^*J>.S^. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


1.1 


11.25 


UiM2A    UZS 

;£  i£o  12.0 


yuu 

^U4 


HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRRIT 

WitSTIR,N.Y.  145*0 

(716)172-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  IVIicroreproductlons  /  In-titut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


Technics:  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


Th( 
to 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best 
original  copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this 
copy  which  may  be  bibliographically  unique, 
which  may  alter  any  of  the  images  in  the 
reproduction,  or  which  may  significantly  change 
the  usual  method  of  filming,  are  checked  below. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm6  le  meilleur  exemplaire 
qu'il  lui  a  AtA  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details 
de  cat  exemplaire  qui  sont  peut-Atre  uniques  du 
point  de  vue  bibliographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier 
une  image  reproduite,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  una 
modification  dans  la  m^thode  normale  de  filmage 
sont  indiquis  ci-dessous. 


Th 
po 
of 
filr 


0    Coloured  covers/ 
Couverture  de  couleur 

0    Covers  damaged/ 
Couverture  endommagie 

□    Covers  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Couverture  restaur6e  et/ou  pelliculAe 


n 


Cover  title  missing/ 

Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps/ 

Cartes  gdographiques  en  couleui 


Q    Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)/ 
Encre  de  couleur  {i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 


D 


□ 


Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations/ 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
Relitf  avec  d'autres  documents 


r~p\   Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 


alonp  interior  margin/ 

La  reliure  serr6e  peut  causer  de  I'onbre  ou  de  la 

distortion  le  long  de  la  marge  int6rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certames  pages  blanches  ajouttes 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaissent  dans  le  texte, 
mais,  lorsque  cela  6tait  possible,  ces  pages  n'ont 
pas  6t6  fiim^es. 

Additional  comments:/ 
Commentaires  suppl6mentaires: 


I      I    Coloured  pages/ 


Pages  de  couleur 

Pages  damaged/ 
Pages  endommagdes 


□   Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restauries  et/ou  pellicul6es 

0  Pages  discoioured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  d^color^es,  tacheties  ou  piqu^es 

0   Pages  detached/ 
Pages  ddtachdes 

0Showthrough/ 
Transparence 

0  Quality  of  print  varies/ 
Quality  indgale  de  I'impression 

□    Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  mstiriel  suppl^mentaire 

nOnly  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 


D 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc.,  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  6t6  film^es  d  nouveau  de  fapon  & 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


Or 
be 
thi 
sio 
oti 
fin 
sio 
or 


Th 
sK 
Til 
wl 

Ml 
dil 
en 
be 
rig 
ret 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquA  ci-dessous. 


10X 


14X 


18X 


22X 


• 


2bX 


30X 


12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


The  copy  filmed  here  has  been  reproduced  thank* 
to  the  genero'sity  of: 

Victoria  University  Library  Toronto 


L'exemplaire  filmt  fut  reproduit  grAce  A  la 
ginArositA  de: 

Victoria  University  Library  Toronto 


The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Les  images  suivantes  ont  6tA  reproduites  avec  le 
plus  grand  soin.  compte  tenu  de  la  conditii>n  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  filmi,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  filmed 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  All 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimAe  sont  film6s  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporu)  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illuc   ation,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmfo  en  commenpant  par  la 
premidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinti^ 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  et  ^n  terminant  par 
la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — ^>  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivants  apparaftra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  y  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
filmAs  A  des  taux  de  rAduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA.  il  est  filmA  A  partl/ 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gaucne,  de  gauche  A  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


1    "* 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

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ii 


LIFE  IN  THE 
BACKWOODS 


KY 


SUSAN 
MOODI^r 


.* 


AfTHOR  OP 
"  OkoKI  KEV    MONCTON, 

•'  Floha  Lyndsay," 
Ktc,  Etc. 

Kocjml  kc  till  ^Mt  iifflie,  .N.  y.,  «  •♦.•ondK^UH  m»tt«r.     'ipTrl^-ht,  1884,  l.»  Jmii  W.  l^sni  •'«)««»»     If<u*4  Trt-Wml 


Iknow  HI  I  XKnontcn  by  these  pkesj^nts,  that 

wliile  sundry  and  almost  (countless  imitations  of  and  8ul)stitute3  fov 
Enoch  Morgan's  Sons  Sapolio  are  offered  by  unscrupulous  parties, 
who  do  not  hesitate  to  represent  them  as  the  original  article, 

^bl0   lln&CntUrC   WITNI..^8ETH,  that  there  is  but  ono 
Sapolio,  to   wit : — the  original  article   manufactured  by   the   Enoch 
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70  1 


VICTORIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
TORONTO,  ONTARIO 


SOURCE: 


Tlie  Library  of 
Rev.  Salem  Goldsworth  Bland, 
B.A.,  D.D. 


N 

uy  luaii,  lu  |iiuiu   ni'UpiiCis,  tu  auy  uutxitiuu,  uu  muuipb 
of  price,  by 

ARMS.      AMERICAN  DRUG  CO.,  BOSTON,  MASS. 


HAT 

fov 

ties, 


ono 
loch 


_ 


Be 


LOVELL'S  LIBRAR7. 


COMPLETE  CATALOaUE  BY  AUTHORS. 

LovKLi.'s  LiBniRT  now  contains  the  complete  writingH  of  most  of  the  bcBt  «>tandnnt 
•ntbors,  mch  as  DickenB,  Thackeray,  Eliut,  Carlylo,  KuHkin,  Scott,  Lytton,  Black,  etc., 
eto. 

Each  number  is  issued  in  neat  13ino  form,  and  tbn  typo  will  bo  fonnd  larger,  and  tha 
paper  better,  than  in  uny  other  cheap  scriua  published. 


P.  0.  Box  1992. 


JOHN    IV.    LOVEIIili   COMPAIVT, 

14  and  10  Veaey  St.,  New  Yorliu 


y 


I; 


BY  0.  M.  ADAM  AND  A.  E. 
WETHEBALD 

846    An  Algonquin  Maiden 3G 

BY  MAX  ADELEB 

295    Random  Shots 20 

825    Elbow  Room 20 

BY  GUSTAVE  AIMABD 

BOO  The  Adventurers 10 

667  The  Trail-Hunter 10 

573  Pearl  of  the  Andes 10 

1011  Pirates  of  the  Prairies 10 

1021  The  Trapper's  Daughter 10 

1032  The  Tiger  Slayer 10 

1045  Trappers  of  Arkansas 10 

1053  Border  Rifles 10 

1063  Tlie  Freebooters 10 

1069  The  White  Scalper 10 

r  BY  MBS.  ALDEBDIGE 

846    An  Interesting  Case  20 

BY  MBS.  ALEXANDEB 

62  The  Wooing  O't,  2  Pai  .^  each 15 

99  The  Admiral's  Ward 20 

209  The  Executor 20 

849  Valerie's  Fate 10 

664  At  Bay 10 

746  Beaton's  Bargain 20 

777  A  Second  Life 20 

tm  Maid.  Wife,  or  VVridow 10 

840  Hy  Woman's  Wit 20 

995  Which  Shall  it  Be  ? 20 

BY  F.  ANSTEY 

80    Vice  Ver8&;  or,  A  Lesson  to  Fathers. .  20 

S'M    Tiie  Giant  8  Robe 20 

453    Black  Poodle,  and  Other  Tales 20 

(310    The  Tinted  Venus 15 

755    A  Fallen  Idol 20 

BY  T.  S.  ABTHVS 

496  Woman's  Trials 20 

507  The  Two  Wives 15 

518  Married  Life 15 

B;i8  The  Ways  of  Providence 15 

545  Home  Scenes 15 

554  Stories  for  Parents 15 

563  Seed-Timoand  Harvest 15 

508  Words  for  the  Wise 15 

674  Stories  for  Young  Housekeepers, ...  15 

579  Lessons  in  Life    15 

682  Oflf  Hind  Sketches • 15 

685  Tried  and  Tempted 16 


430 
455 
472 


351 


756 


206 
227 
233 


BY  HANS  CHBI8TIAN  ANDEBSEN 

419    Fairy  Tales 80 

BY  EDWIN  ABNOLD 

The  Light  of  Asia 20 

Per  rls  of  the  Faith 15 

Indian  Sung  of  Songs 10 

BY  W.  E.  AYTOUN 

Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers 20 

BY  ADAM  BADEAV 

Conspiracy 2S 

BY  SIB  SAMUEL  BAKEB 

Cast  up  by  the  Sea 20 

Rifle  and  Hound  in  Ceylon 20 

Eight  Years'  Wandering  in  Ceylon.  .20 

BY  C.  W.  BALESTIEB 

881    AFair  Device 20 

405    Life  of  J.  G.  Blaine 20 

BY  B.  M.  BALLANTYNE 

215    ThoRcdErio 20 

226    The  Fire  Brigade 20 

239    Brling  the  Bold 20 

241    Deep  Down 20 

BY  S.  BABINO-OOTJLD 

878    Little  Tu'penny 10 

BY  OE0B6E  MIDDLETON  BAYNE 

400    Galaski 20 

BY  AUOUST  BEBEL 

712    Woman 30 

BY  MBS.  E.  BEDELL  BENJAMIN 

748    Our  Roman  Palace 20 

BY  A.  BENBIMO 

470    Vie IB 

BY  E.  BEBGEB 

901    Charles  Auchester 20 

BY  W.  BEBGSOE 

77    Pillone 16 

BY  E.  BEBTHET 

SCO    The  Sergeant's  Legacy 20 

BY  BJOBNSTJEBNE  BJOBNSON 

S    The  Happy  Boy 10 

4    Aiuc 10 


lOVELL^S   LIBRARY. 


BT  WALTEB  BESANT 

18  Thev  Were  Miirrici 10 

108  Let  NothliiR  Yon  DiHmay 10 

257  All  in  ft  Gulden  Kuir 20 

JMiS  When  the  Ship  Comefl  Home 10 

884  Dorothy  Fornter 20 

em  Self  or  Bearer 10 

M'i  The  \Vorl(i  Went  Very  Well  Then  .  .20 

847  The  Holy  Rose 10 

100;^  To  Call  Her  Mine 20 

BT  WILLIAM  BLACK 

40    An  Adventure  in  Thule,  etc 10 

48    A  Princess  of  Thule 20 

82    A  Daughter  of  Heth 20 

85    Shamlon  Bulls 20 

93    Macleod  of  Dare 20 

186    Yolanile UO 

142  Strange  Adventures  of  a  Phaeton. .  .2<J 

146    Whit«!  Wings 20 

158    Snnrise,  2  I'arts,  each 15 

178    Madcap  Violet  20 

180    Kilmeny 20 

182    That  Beautiful  Wretch 20 

184    Green  Pastures,  etc  20 

188    In  Silk  Attire 20 

ai3    The  Three  Featfcers 20 

210    Lady  Siiverdalt's  Sweetheart 10 

217  The  Four  MacNicols 10 

218  Mr.  Pisixtr.tus  Brown,  M.P 10 

225    Oliver  Goldtiinitb 10 

282    Monarch  of  Mincing  Lane 20 

456    Judith  Shiiketii)eare 20 

584    WisB  Women  of  Inverness 10 

678    White  Heather 20 

a58    Sabina  Zembra 20 

BY  HISS  M.  £.  BBADDON 

9S  The  Golden  Calf 20 

lu4  Lady  Audley's  Secret 20 

214  Phantom  Fortune 20 

266  Under  the  Red  Flag 10 

444  An  Ishmaelite 2^i 

555  Aurora  Floyd 20 

688  To  the  Bitter  End 20 

6i*6  Dead  Sea  Fruit 2C 

6%  The  MiBtletoo  Bougk 20 

7611  Vixen  20 

78.3  The  Octoroon 20 

-814  Mohawks 20 

8tl8  One  Thing  Needful 20 

869  Barbara ;  or.  Splendid  Misery 20 

870  John  Mnrchmont's  Legacy 20 

871  Jofihna  Haggard's  Daughter 20 

872  Taken  at  the  Flood  20 

873  Asphodel 20 

877  The  Doctor's  Wife    20 

878  Only  a  Clod 20 

879  Sir  Jasper's  Tenant 20 

880  Lady'sMile 80 

881  Birds  of  Prey 20 

882  Charlotte's  Inheritance 20 

883  Rupert  Godwin 20 

886  Strangers  and  Pilgrims 20 

887  A  Strange  World .20 

888  Mount  Royal 20 

889  Just  AsIAm 20 

8»C  Dead  Men's  Shoes 20 

892  Hostngcs  to  Fortune 20 

883  Fenton's  Quest 20 

8d4  The  CloTcn  Foot   20 


BT  FRANK  BABBETT. 

1000  Tlio  Great  llcHpor 81 

BT  B.  D.  BLAC&MOBE 

881  Lorna  Dooiw,  Part  1 2(1 

8f)l  Lorna  Doonc,  Part  II 20 

U:'A\  Maid  of  8k.r 20 

ftW  Cradock  Nawell,  Part  1 20 

955  Cradock  Nowell,  Part  II "^O 

{*61  Springhaven 20 

1031  Mary  AncrU^y 20 

Wm  Alice  Lorraine 2a 

1036  CriKtowell 2a 

1037  Clara  Vaughan 21*' 

mm  Crippa  the  Carrier 20 

1030  Remarkable  History  of  Sir  Thoraus 

Upmoro .20 

1040  Ercma  ;  or,  My  Father's  Sin 20 

BT  LILLIE  D.  BLAKE 

105    Woman's  Place  Today 20 

597    Fettered  for  Life S»6 

BT  ANNIE  BBADSHAW 

716    A  Crimson  Stain 20 

BT  CHABLOTTE  BBEMEB 

448    Life  of  Fredrika  Bremer 20 

BT  CHABLOTTE  BRONTE 

74    Jnne  Eyre 20 

897    Shirley 20 

BT  RHODA  BROUOHTON 

23  Second  Thoughts 20 

2W  Belinda 20 

781  Betty's  Visions 15 

841  Dr.  Cupid  a(» 

1022  Gootl-Bye,  Sweetheart 20 

1023  Red  as  a  Roso  is  She 20 

1024  Cometh  up  as  a  Flower 20 

1025  Not  Wisely  but  too  Well 20 

102(5  Nancy 20 

1027  Jwn 20 

BT  ELIZABETH  BARRETT 
BROWNING 

491    Aurora  Leigh 2fc 

479    Poems 35 

BT  ROBERT  BROWNING 

652    Selections  from  Poetical  Works 20 

BT  WILLIAX  CULLEN  BBTANT 

443    Poems 20 

BT  ROBERT  BUCHANAN 

318    The  New  Abelard . . . ; 20 

696    The  Master  of  the  Mine 10 

BT  JOHN  BUNTAN 

200    The  Pilgrim's  Progress 20 

BT  ROBERT  BURNS 
430    Poems 29 

BT  REV.  JAS.  S.  BUSH 

113    More  Words  about  the  Bible 20 

BT  £.  LASSETER  BTNNEB 

100    Nimport,  2  Parts,  each 15 

102    Tritons,  2  Parts,  each. . , It 


LOVKLLS   LIBRARY. 


I- 


/ 


BT  THOMAS  CAKFBELL 

896    PoemR 20 

BY  BOSA  NOUCHETE  GABEY 

1560    ForLillaB 20 

911    Not  Like  other  QlrlH 20 

91 3    Robert  OrU's  Atonement 20 

959    Wee  Wific 20 

900    Wooed  and  Married 20 

BY  WM.  GABLETON 

JOO  Willy  Rellly 20 

fc.'0  Shane  Fadh's  Wedding 10 

821  Liirrv  McFarland's  Wake 10 

822  The  Party  Fi^ht  and  Funeral 10 

82;^  The  MidnightMuBS 10 

824  PhilPurcel 10 

825  An  Irish  Oath 10 

820  Going  to  Maynooth 10 

8-27  Phuliin  O'Toole'H  Courtship 10 

828  Douiiniok,  the  Poor  Scholar 10 

829  NealMalone 10 

BY  THOMAS  GABLYLE 

4£6  Iliatory    of    French    Uovolulion,   2 

Parts,  each a.") 

404    Past  and  I'resent 20 

bUO  The  Diamond  Necklace  ;  and  Mira- 

beau 15 

803    Chartism 20 

6'!8    Sartiir  Resurtus 20 

614    Early  KingH  of  Norway 20 

620    Jean  Paul  Friodrioh  Uiclittr 10 

622  Goethe,  and  Miscellaneous  EssayB. . .  10 

625    Lifeof  Heyne 15 

628    Voltaire  and  Novalis 15 

641    Heroes,  and  Hero- Worship 20 

646    Signs  of  the  Time."? 15 

660  German  Liter.iture 15 

61)1    Portraits  of  John  Knox 15 

671    Count  Cagliostro,  etc  15 

678    Frederick  the  Great,  Vol.  I 20 

!tjO  '*         "         "      Vol.  II WO 

W  "         "         "      Vol.111 20 

10  "         "         "      Vol.  IV....... 20 

19  ••         "         "      Vol,  V 20 

89$  "         "         "      Vol.  VI 20 

im  "         "         "      Vol.  VII 20 

628  "         "         '•      Vol.  VIII 20 

6.",0    Life  of  John  Sterling 20 

C:^8    Latter-Dav  Pamphlets. 20 

€M    Life  of  St^iller 20 

6  J3    Oliver  Cromwell,  Vol.  1 25 

C40        "  "         Vol.  11 25 

()4<)        "  "         Vol.  Ill 25 

052  Characteristics  nnd  ot.nei  Essays. .     15 
650  Corn  Law  R*  y mes  and  other  Essny s .  15 
058  Uiiillie  the  Covenanter  and  otlier  Es- 
says    15 

661  Dr.  Frp-acia  and  other  Essays 15 

BY  LEWIS  CABROLL 

480    Alice's  Adventures 20 

4S1    Through  the  Looking-Glass 20 

BY  "GAVENDISH" 

483    Cavendish  Card  Essays. 15 

BY  GEBVANTES 

417    Don  Quixote 80 

BY  L.  W.  GHAUFNEY 

119    Bourbon  Lilies 20 


BY  VICTOR  CHEBBiniSZ 

242    Samuel  Drohl  &  Co. 90 

BY  BEBTHA  H.  CLAY 

1H3  Her  Mother's  Sin 20 

STT  Dora  Thome 20 

2H7  Beyond  Piirdon 20 

420  A  IJroken  Wedding-RlnR 20 

42-'l  Re|>cnted  at  Leisure  20 

458  Sunshine  and  lloseH 20 

4»>5  The  Earl's  Atom-nient 30 

474  A  Woman's  1  omptiition i)0 

470  Love  Works  Wonders 20 

658  Fair  but  False 10 

5S>3  Between  Two  Sins 10 

051  At  War  with  Herself 15 

609  Hilda 10 

ObO  Her  Martyrdom 20 

(m  Lord  Lynn's  Choice 10 

()}t4  The  Shadow  of  a  Sin 10 

0!>5  Wedded  and  Parted 10 

700  In  Cupid's  Net 10 

7U1   Lady  Darner's  Secret 20 

718  A  (iildpd  Sin 10 

720  Between  Two  Loves 20 

727  For  Another's  Sin 80 

■730  Romance  of  a  Yduuk  trirl 20 

733  A  Quet.n  Amongst  Women IG 

738  A  Golden  Dawn 10 

739  Like  no  Other  Love 10 

740  A  Bitter  Atonement 20 

744  Evelyn's  Folly 20 

762  Set  in  Diamonds 20 

704  A  Fair  Mystery 20 

800  Thorns  and  Orange  Blossoms 10 

801  Romance  of  a  Black  Veil 10 

803  Love's  Warfare 10 

804  Mftdolin's  Lover 20 

806  From  Out  the  Gloom 20 

8U7  Which  Loved  Him  Beat 10 

808  A  True  Magdalen 20 

809  The  Sin  of  a  Lifetime 20 

810  Prince  Charlie's  Daughter 10 

811  A  Golden  Heart 10 

812  Wife  in  Name  Only 20 

815  A  Woman's  Error 20 

806  Marjorie 20 

922  A  Wilful  Maid  20 

923  Lady  ':!a8tlemaine's  Divorce 20 

926  Claribel's  Love  Story 20 

928  Thrown  on  the  World 20 

92!)  UndernShiidow ..20 

9.'!()  A  Struggle  for  a  Ring 20 

933  Hilary's  Folly 20 

9IJ3  A  Haunted  Life 20 

!t;!4  A  Woiiiiin's  Love  Story 20 

009  A  Woman's  War 20 

984  'Twixt  Smile  and  Tear 20 

9>-<6  Lady  Diuna's  Pride 20 

980  Bille  of  Lynn 20 

988  Marjorie's  Fate 20 

989  Sweet  Cymheline 20 

1007  Redeemed  by  Love 20 

1012  The  Squire's  Darling 10 

1013  The  Mystery  o'  Colde  Fell 20 


BY  BEY.  JAS.  FBEEUAN  GLABK 

167    Anti-Slavery  Days 20 

BY  S.  T.  COLEBIDOE 

593    Foema 80 


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LOVELL'fl   LIBRARY. 


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ad 


BY  WILKIE  COLLINS 

8  The  MootiHtone,  Part  I 

9  The  Moonstone,  Part  II 

S4  The  New  Magdalen , 

f)7  Heart  and  Science  

418  "I  Say  No". 


...10 
...10 

,...20  i 

,...21) 

....20 


4:i7  Tales  of  Two  Idle  Apprentices 15 

fl8;^  The  Ghost's  Tonch 10 

OHO  My  Lody's  Money 10 

7-.'2  The  Evil  Oealus 20 

KW  The  Guilty  River 10 

D57  The  Dead  Secret 20 

m>  The  Queen  of  HearU 20 

1003  The  Haunted  Hotel 10 

BY  HI70H  CONWAY 

429  Called  Back 15 

4(12  Dark  Days 15 

(iia  CirriHton'H  Gift 10 

617  Paul  Vargas :  a  Mystery 10 

tm  A  Family  Aflfair 20 

(i(i7  Story  of  a  Sculptor 10 

072  Slings  and  Arrows 10 

715  ACardiuul  Sin 20 

745  LivingorDead  20 

760  Somebody's  Story 10 

B68  Bound  b.va  Spell 20 

BY  J.  FENIMOBE  COOFES 

C  The  Last  of  tlie  Mohicans 20 

B3  The  Spy 20 

8«5  The  Pathfinder 20 

878  Homeward  Bound 20 

441  Home  as  Pound 20 

483  The  Decrslayer 30 

467  The  Prairie 20 

471  The  Pioneer 25 

484  The  Two  Admirals 20 

488  The  Water-Witch 20 

491  The  Red  Rover 20 

BOl  The  Pilot 20 

600  Wing  and  Wing 20 

5 1 2  Wyandotte 20 

B17  Heidenmauer 20 

Bl!l  The  Headsman 20 

5'ij  The  Bravo 20 

527  Lionel  Tjincoln  20 

529  Wept  of  Wish-ton- Wish 20 

532  Afloat  and  Ashore 25 

5!9  Miles  Wallineford 20 

543  TheMonikins 20 

548  Mercedes  of  Castile 20 

553  The  Sea  Lions 20 

559  The  Crater 20 

B(>2  Oak  Openings 20 

570  Satanstoe 20 

i  576  The  Chain-Bearer 20 

687  Wavs  of  the  Hour 20 

1 601  Precaution 20 

603  Redskins 25 

611  Jack  Tier 20 

BY  KINAHAN  CORNWALLIS 

409    Adrift  with  a  Vengeance 25 

BY  THE  COUNTESS 

1028  A  Passion  Flower 20 

1041  The  World  Between  Them 20 

I        BY  OEOROIANA  M.  CBAIK 

lOCe  A  Daughter  of  t,ho  Pcoi.le 20 


860 


464 


845 


260 

815 

478 
(HI4 
•113 
016 
645 


.30 


BY  B.  GBISWELL 

Grandfather  Llokihlngle    .... 

BY  R.  H.  DANA,  JB. 

Two  Years  before  the  Mast. . . . 

BY  DANTE 

Dantc'fl  Vision  of  Hell,  Purgatory, 
and  Paradise 20 

BY  FLOBA  A.  DABLIT'} 

Mrd.  Darling's  War  Letters 20 

BY  JOYCE  DABBELL 

Winifred  Power  20 

BYALFHONSE  DAUDET 

Tartarin  of  Tarascon 20 

Sidonio 20 

Jack 20 

The  Little  Oood-for-Noihing 20 

Tno  Nabob 26 


BY  BEV.  C.  H.  DAVIES,  D.D. 

463    Mystic  London .20 

BY  THE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAULS 

431    Life  ef  SiH!n.ser 10 

BY  C.  DEBANS 

476    A  Sheep  in  Wolf's  Clothing .20 

BY  BEV.  C.  F.  DEEMS,  D.D. 

704    Evolution 20 

BY  DANIEL  DEFOE 

428    Robin.son  Crusoe 25 

BY  THOS.  DE  QUINCEY 

20    The  Spanish  Nun  IQ 

BY  CHABLES  DICKENS 

10  Oliver  Twist 20 

38  A  Tnle  of  Two  Cities ! ...  .20 

75  Child's  History  of  England 20 

91  Pickwick  Pai)ers,  2  Parts,  each .....  20 

140  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth  10 

144  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  2  Parts,  each. . .  15 

150  Barnaby  Rudge,  2  Parts,  each 15 

1.58  David  Copperfleld,  2  Parts,  each ...  .20 

170  Hr.rd  Times 20 

192  Great  Expectations 20 

201  Martin  Chuzzlcwit,  2  Parts,  each. . . .20 

210  American  Notes 20 

219  Dombey  and  Son,  2  Parts  each 20 

223  Little  Dorrit,  2  Parts,  each. 20 

228  Our  Mutual  Friend.  2  Part.^  each..  .20 

231  Nicholas  Nickleby,  2  Parts,  each 20 

234  Pictures  from  Italy 10 

237  The  Boy  at  Mugby 10 

244  Bleak  House,  2  Parts,  each 20 

246  Sketches  of  the  Young  Couples. 10 

201  Muster  Humphrey's  Clock 10 

267  The  Haunted  House,  etc 10 

270  The  Mudfog  Papers,  etc 10 

273  Sketches  by  Boz 20 

274  A  Christmas  Carol,  etc 15 

282  Uncommercial  Traveller 20 

288  Somebody's  Luggage,  etc 10 

2*3  The  Battle  of  Life,  etc . .  10 

297  Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood 20 

298  Reprinted  Pieces    80 

302  No  Thoroughfare 15 

437  Tales  of  Two  Idle  Apprentices..  ..  ,10 


LOVELL*S  LIBUART. 


; 


I. 


B7  CARL  DETLEF 

17    Ircno;  or,  Tho  finely  Manor 20 

BY  PROF.  DOWDEN 

404    Life  of  Sdiithfy 10 

BY  JOHN  DRYDEN 

41W    rocma 80 

BY  DU  BOISUOBEY 

1018  CoiKkimii'd  Door 20 

BY  THE  "DUCHESS" 

68  Portia 20 

70  Molly  Hav*.- 20 

78  I'hvlliK *^U 

Wi  Monic'i 10 

m  Mrs.  OiKjlIrcy  ao 

»2  Airv  Kiiiry  Lilian  20 

12«i  l.oys,  Lord  DiTunford 20 

132  Moonshiiio  itiiil  MnrKiioritca 10 

lii2  I'.ilih  nnil  Uniaith  20 

ItW  Houuty's  Di4Ut,'litori» 20 

SW4  llowjMioyni! 20 

451  Doris 20 

477  A  Wi'tk  in  Killanicy   lU 

C.'JO  In  Diiriinoo  Vio 10 

018  DU'.W'h  Swcotiieurt ;   or,  "  O  Tender 

DoIoich" 20 

021  A  Miiidcn  nil  Forlorn 10 

(J2-1  A  l'iiJ*«ivo  Orlrno  11) 

721  Liiily  Uriinksmcro 20 

7."15  A  Mc-nliil  Striiu'nU! 20 

7:^7  Th«!  haunted  (Jlmmbcr 10 

702  Her  Woelt'H  Aninsoment li' 

b02  Ludy  ValwortliH  iJiamonda ,0 

BY  LORD  DUFFERIN 

95    Lctterfl  from  High  Lut  itudc.s 20 

BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS 

701  Count  of  Monto  Crinfo,  I'art  1 20 

761  Count  of  Monto  Cristo,  Part  II..   ..SO 

775  The  Three  (J  uurdwmon 20 

786  Twenty  Yearn  After aiJ 

884  The  Son  of  Monto  Cristo,  Part  I. . .  .20 

884  Tho  Son  of  Monto  Crinto,  Tart  II . . .  XO 

885  Monto  Cristo  and  His  Wife 20 

891  CounteRS  of  Monte  Cripto,  Part  I  .  .20 

891  Countess  of  Monte  CriHto,  Part  II... SO 

998  BeauTancrcdc 20 

BY  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS,  JR. 

992    Camille 10 

BY  MRS.  ANNIE  EDWARDS 

681    AGirton  Girl 20 

BY  GEOROE  ELIOT 

66.,  Adam  Bode,  2  Parts,  each 15 

(59    AmoH  Barton 10 

71  Silas  Marner 10 

79^  Romoln,  2  I'arts,  each 15 

149*  Janet's  Repentance 10 

151    Felix  llolt 20 

174    Middlemarch,  2  Parts,  each 20 

195    Daniel  Deronda,  2  Parts,  each 20 

202    Theophrastus  Such 10 

205    The  Spanish  Gypsy.and  other  Poem820 
807    The  Mill  on  the  Floss,  2  Parts,  each.l5 

208    Brother  Jacob,  etc 10 

S74    Essays,  and   Leaves  from    a  Note- 
Boole 20 


BY  M.  BETHAM-EDWAR08 

20.1    Disarmed 15 

WW    'i'ho  Flower  of  Doom 10 

1C05  Next  of  Kin 20 

BY  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON 

373    EHsuyH 20 

ENGLISH  MEN  OF  LETTERS. 
EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 

3i8    Ilnnyan,  by  J.  A.  Fnmdo 10 

407    Burke,  by  John  Morley 10 

3:M    Hums,  by  Principal  Shnlrp 10 

317     Byron,  by  ITofcHsor  Nichol 10 

413    Chaucer."  by  Prof.  A.  W.  Word \Q 

424    Cowper,  by  Gold  win  Smith 10 

;J77    Deftw,  by  William  Minto l(i 

3.S3    Gibbon,  by  J.  C.  Morrison 10 

225    Goldsmith,  by  William  lilnck 10 

369    Hume,  by  Professor  Huxley 10 

401     Johnson,  by  Lesliu  Stephen 10 

380     Locke,  by  Thomas  I'owler 10 

302    Milton,  by  Mnrk  Pottison 10 

398    Pope,  by  Leslie  Stephen 10 

364    Scott,  by  K.  H.  Hutton 10 

361     Shelley,  by  J.  Symondu 10 

4U4    Southey,  by  Pri)fes.sor  Dowdon 10 

431  SiM>nsi!r,  by  the  Dean  of  St.  Paul's. .  10 

344  Thackeray,  by  Anthony  TroUopo.  ..10 

410    Wordsworth,  by  F.  Myers 10 

BY  B.  L.  FARJEON 

24S    Gautran ;  or.  House  of  White  Shad- 
..  VH 20 

r,rA    Love  s  Harvest 20 

K.'-.O    Golden  Bells 10 

874    Nine  of  Hearts 20 

BY  HARRIET  FARLEY 

473    Christmas  Stories 20 

BY  F.  W.  FARRAR,  D.D. 

19    Seekers  after  God 20 

50    Early  Days  of  Christianity,  2  Parts, 
each 23 

BY  GEORGE  MANNVILLE  FENN 
1004  This  Man's  Wife 20 

BY  OCTAVE  FEUILLET 

4t     A  Marriage  in  1  liRh  Life 20 

987    Romance  of  a  Poor  Yonns?  Man 10 

BY  FRIEDRICH.  BARON  DE  LA 
MOTTE  FOUaUE 

711   Undine  10 

BY  MRS.  FORRESTER 

760  Fair  Women  20 

818  Once  Again 20 

843  My  Lord  and  My  Lady 20 

844  Dolores 20 

8.50  My  Hero 20 

8f)9  Viva 20 

860  Omnia  Vanltaa 10 

&)1  Diana  Carew 20 

862  From  Olympus  to  Hades 20 

863  Rhona 20 

864  Roy  and  Viola 20 

8(55  Juno 20 

8m  Mipnon 20 

867  A  Young  Man's  Fancy -98 


LOV  ELL'S  LimiAUY. 


BT  THOMAS  FOWLER 

Llfo  of  Locke 10 

BT  FBANCESCA 

m    The  Su.ny  o(  Idn 10 

BY  B.  E.  FBANCILLON 

lift    A  K.'iil  QiiufU  »« 

(J..l(lu»  Uulls 10 

BY  ALBERT  FRANXLYN 

123    Aiiieliiut(K>  ISour^' 16 

BY  L.  VIRGINIA  FRENCH 

185    MylloKfs 20 

BY  J.  A.  FROUDE 

48  Life  of  Bunyiui 10 

BY  EMILE  OABORIAU 

114    MonHiour  r<oco<|,  )i  I'arts,  ouoh 20 

116    Till)  I,orou«o  CuHO  20 

|20    Other  Poople'H  Money.   20 

129    In  I'eril  of  llin  Life 20 

1188    The(Jil.l«'d  Cliciuo 20 

hf>5    MyHtory  of  Oroiviil  20 

1(11     I'roiiuHe  of  Marriauo 10 

File  No.  na 20 

BY  HENRY  OEOROE 

'  52  ProfriesH  .ami  I'ovcrty 20 

BOO  Liinil  Question 10 

B!«  Boeidl  Troblenis 20 

790  I'roperty  in  Land 15 

BY  CHARLES  OIBBON 

57    The  Golden  Khaft 20 

BY  J.  W.  VON  OOETHE 

B42    Ooethe'H  Fnust 20 

N3    Goethe's  PooniB 20 

BY  NIKOLAI  V.  GOGOL 

1016  Taras  Bnlli\ 20 

BY  OLIVER  GOLDSMITH 

61    Vicnr  of  Wiikcneld 10 

062    riay3  and  Poouih 20 

BY  MRS.  GORE 

89    The  Dean's  Danghtcr 20 

BY  JAMES  GRANT 

49  The  Secret  Despatch 20 

BY  HENRI  GREVILLE. 

|1C01  Frankley 20 

BY  CECIL  GRIFFITH 

►  73a    Victory  Deano 20 

BY  ARTHUR  GRIFFITHS 

709    No.  !»9 10 

THE  BROTHERS  GRIMM 

B21     Ffiiry  Tak-s,  Illiistratod 20 

BY  LIEUT.  J.  W.  GUNNISON 

40    History  of  the  Mormons 15 

BY  ERNST  HAECSEL 

97    India  and  Ceylon 20 

BY  MARION  HARLAND 

[107    Housekeeping  and  llomemaking.. . .  15 


BY  F.  W.  HACXLANOEB 

006    Forhiddcn  Fruit M 

BY  H.  RIDER  HAGGARD 

Sl.T  King  Holonion'.s  Mines 20 

KIH  She 20 

MO  The  Wltcha  llcud 20 

\m  JiHd 20 

'Ml  Dawn 20 

1020  Allan  Quatennain 20 

BY  A.  EOMONT  HAKE 

371     The  Story  of  Uhine«e  Gordon 20 

BY  LUDOVIC  HALEVY 

16    L'Abbi!  C'onMatitin 90 

BY  THOMAS  HARDY 

43    Two  on  a  Tower 90 

157    Itoinantio   Adventures    of   a   Milk- 

ninid 10 

74fl    The  Mayor  of  CnHlerbriilgo 20 

mt    The  Woodl.indors 20 

iMi4    Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd 20 

BY  JOHN  HARRISON  AND  M. 
COMFTON 

414    Over  the  Summer  Sea SO 

BY  J.  B.  HARWOOD 

209    One  False,  both  Fair 90 

BY  JOSEPH  HATTON 

7    Clytio  20 

l.';7    CruelLondon 20 

BY  NATHANIEL  HAWTH*.  INE 

.'170    Twice  Told  Tal.a 20 

;n«    Grandfftlher'H  Chnir 20 

BY  MARY  CECIL  HAY 

ir.6  Under  the  Will 10 

500  The  A  rundel  Motto 20 

nitO  Old  Myddleton's  Money 20 

7«7  A  Wicked  Girl 10 

971  Nora's  Love  Tost 20 

';»72  The  Squire's  Legacy 20 

Wri  Dorothy's  Venture 20 

974  My  First  Offer 10 

975  Hack  to  the  Old  Homo i  0 

J»7«  For  Her  Dear  Sake 20 

977  Hidden  Perils 20 

978  Victor  and  Vanouished 20 

BY  MRS.  FELICIA  HEMANS 

583    Poems 30 

BY  DA VII  J.  HILL,  LL.D. 

533    Principles  and   Fallacies?  of  Social- 
ism   15 

BY  M.  L.  HOLBROOK,  M.D. 

356    Hygiene  of  the  Uiam 25 

BY  MRS.  M.  A.  HOLMES 

709    Woman  agamst  Woman 20 

7 13    A  Wonum's  Vengonnco 20 

BY  FAXTON  HOOD 

73    Life  of  Cromwell 18 

BY  THOMAS  HOOD 

511    Poems 88 


6 


lovetl's  library. 


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J?*- 


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14 


nro 

093 


742 
747 
758 
762 
765 
774 
778 
782 
786 
788 
791 
795 


634 


636 


61 
386 


£69 


109 


•^84 
784 
784 


S64 


147 

198 
199 


324 

236 
S49 
S63 
872 
279 
281 
29U 
299 
801 
S05 
808 
810 
311 
814 


BT  HOBRT  AND  WEEHS 

Life  of  Marion SO 

BY  BOBERT  HOVDIN 

The  Tricks  of  the  Greeks 20 

BY  ADAH  M.  HOWABD 

Against  Her  Will 20 

The  ChUd  Wife 10 

BY  EDWARD  HOWLAND 

Social  Solutions,  Part  I  10 

Tartll 10 

"  "         Part  III 10 

"  •'  Part  IV 10 

"  •'  PartV 10 

"  "  Part  VI 10 

"  "  Part  VII 10 

"  "  Part  VIII 10 

"  "  Part  IX 10 

••  "  PartX 10 

•»  •♦  PartXI    10 

'♦  «»  Part  XII 10 

BY  MARIE  HOWLAND 

Papa's  Own  Girl 30 

BY  JOHN  W.  HOYT,  LL.D. 

Studies  in  Civil  Service 16 

BY  THOMAS  HUGHES 

Tom  Brown's  School  Days 2C 

Tom  Brown  at  Oxford,  2  l'arts,eack .  15 

BY  PROF.  HTJXLEY 

Life  of  Hume 10 

BY  STANLEY  HUNTLEY 

The  Spoopendyke  Papers 20 

BY  VICTOR  HUGO 

Lea  Miserables,  Part  1 20 

"  "  Partll  20 

"  "  Part  III 20 

BY  R.  H.  HUTTON 

Life  of  Scott 20 

BY  WASHINGTON  IRVING 

The  Sketch  Book 20 

Tales  of  a  Traveller 20 

Life    and    VoyaKea    of    Columbus, 

Parti 20 

Life   and    Voyages    of    Columbus, 

Part  II 20 

Abbotsford  and  Newstead  Abbey..  .10 
Knickerbocker  History  of  New  York. 20 

The  Crayon  Papers 20 

The  Alhambra 15 

Conquest  of  Granada 20 

Conquest  of  Spain 10 

Bracebridge  Hall 20 

SalmagundL  20 

Astoria 20 

Spanish  Voyages 20 

A  Tour  on  the  Prairies 10 

Life  of  Mahomet,  2  Parts,  each 15 

Oliver  Goldsmith 20 

Captain  Bonneville 20 

Moorish  Chronicles 10 

Wolfcrt's  Boobt  and  Miscellanies 10 


17 

44 

754 

631 

111 

106 

67 


39 
64 


726 

728 
731 
736 


254 
3r22 
324 
S35 
837 
338 


454 


445 


BY  HARRIET  JAT 

The  Dark  Colleen M 

BY  SAMUEL  JOHNSON 

Basselas ,  ,10 

BY  MAURICE  JOKAI 

A  Modern  Midas 90 

BY  JOHN  KEATS 
Poems 25 

BY  EDWARD  KELLOGG 

Labor  aiid  Capital 20 

BY  GRACE  KENNEDY 

Dunalian,  2  Parts,  each IS 

BY  JOHN  P.  KENNEDY 

Horse- Shoe  Ilobinson,  2  Parts,  each.  15 

BY  CHARLES  KINGSLEY 

The  Hermits 20 

IlypL,tia,  2  Parts,  each 15 

BY  HENRY  KINGSLEY 

A  ustin  Eliot .  .20 

Tho  Hillyars  and  Burtons 20 

Loighton  Court 20 

Geoffrey  Humlyn  30 

BY  W.  H.  G.  KINGSTON 

Peter  the  Whaler 20 

Mark  Seaworth „ 20 

Round  the  World 20 

Tho  Young  Foresters 20 

Saltwater 20 

The  Midshipman 20 

BY  F.  KIRBY 

The  Golden  Dog 4b 

BY  A.  LA  POINTE 

The  Rival  Doctors 20 


BY  MISS  MARGARET  LEE 

25    Divorce 20 

000    A  Brighton  Night 20 

725    Dr.  Wilmer's  Love 25 

741    Lorimer  and  Wile 20 

BY  VERNON  LEE 

797  A  Phantom  Lover 10 

798  Prince  of  the  Hundred  Soups 10 

BY  JULES  LERMINA 

469    The  Chase 


20 

BY  CHARLES  LEVER 

327    Harry  Lorrequer 20 

789    Charies  O^Malley,  2  Parts,  each 20 

794    Tom  Burke  of  Ours,  2  Parts,  each.  .20 

BY  H.  W.  LONGFELLOW 

1    Hyperion 20 

a    Oiitre-Mer 20 

482    Poems 20 

BY  SAMUEL  LOVER 

163    Tho  Happy  Man 10 

719    Rory  O'Morc 20 

819    Handy  Audy aC 


'    81 
1    82 

I   ^ 

I  56    . 

I  69  ] 
•:  81  ; 
I  84  I 
'117    ] 

121    I 

128 
:i62 

160 

ITi 

204 


JY 


«8 


LOVELL^S  LIBRABr. 


BT  COHMAHDEB  LOVETT-CAM- 
ESON. 

il7    The  Cruise  of  the  Black  Prince.  . .  .20 

BT  MBS.  H.  LOVETTCAMEBON 

927    PureGold 20 

BY  HENBY  W.  LUCY 

96    Gideon  Fleyce 20 

BY  HEKBY  C.  LTTEENS 

131    Jets  and  Flashes 20 

BY  EDNA  LYALL 

962    Knights-Errant 20 

BY  E.  LYNN  LYNTON 

2T6    lone  Stewart 20 

BY  LOBD  LYTTON 

11  The  Coming  Race  10 

12  Leila 10 

81  Ernest  Maltravers    20 

82  The  Haunted  House 10 

45    Alice:    A  Sequel  to  Ernest  Maltra- 
vers   20 

56  A  Strange  Story 20 

59  Last  Days  of  Pompeii 20 

81  Zanoni 20 

84  Night  and  Morning,  3  Parts,  each. .  15 

117  Paul  Clifford 20 

121  Lady  of  Lyons 10 

128  Money 10 

152  Richelieu IC 

160  Rienzi,  2  Parts,  each 15 

m  Pelham 20 

204  Eugene  Aram 30 

222  ThoDisowned 20 

240  Kenelm  Chillingly 20 

245  What  Will  He  Do  with  It  ?  2  Parts, 

each 20 

an  Devereux 20 

'.m  The  Caxtons,  2  Farts,  each 15 

258  Lucretia 20 

255  Last  of  the  Barons,  2  Parts,  each ...  15 

269  The  Parisians.  2  Parts,  each 2'J 

271  My  Novel,  3  Parts,  each 20 

[276  Harold,  2  Parts,  each 15 

Godolphin 2J 

»4  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine 15 

17  Pausaniaa 15 

BY  LOBD  M ACAITLAY 

Lays  of  Ancient  Rome 20 

lY  KATHEBINE  B-  MAGQUOIB 

Joan  Wcntworth 20 

BT  E.  MABLITT 

The  Old  Mam' Belle's  Secret 20 

Gold  Elsie 20 

BY  CAPTAIN  MABBYAT 

The  Privatearsman ?0 

BYHABBIET  HABTINEAU 

Tales  of  the  French  Revolution 15 

Loom  and  Lugger 20 

Berkeley  the  Banker 20 

|58    Homes  Abroad  ...15 

For  Each  and  For  All 15 

ra    Hill  and  Valley 15 

.1    TheCharmed  Sea 15 

Life  ill  the  Wilds 15 

!t6    Sowers  not  Renpers 15 

JO    Qlea  of  the  Echoes 15 


BY  FLOBENCE  MABBYAT. 

903  The  Master  Passion.. 20 

904  A  Lubky  Disappointment 10 

905  Her  Lord  and  Master 20 

906  My  Own  Child »0 

«.W7    No  Intentions 20 

908  Written  in  Fire 20 

909  ALitUo  Stepson 10 

910  With  Cupid's  Eyes 20 

931  Why  Not  ? 20 

9;J7  My  Sister  the  Actress 20 

938  Captain  Norton's  Diary . .   10 

939  Girls  of  Feversham  20 

940  The  Root  of  aU  Evil 20 

9.2  Facing  the  Footlights 20 

943  Petronel 20 

944  A  Star  and  a  Heart 10 

945  Ange 20 

946  A  Harvest  of  Wild  Oata 20 

9-{7  ThePoiionof  A»p8 10 

948  Fair-Haired  Alda 20 

919  The  Heir  Presumptive 20 

950  Under  1  ho  Lilies  and  Rose? 20 

951  I  {eart  of  Jane  Warner. 20 

95?  Loves  Conflict,  Parti 20 

t>52  Love's  Conflict,  Part  II 20 

95-J  Phyllida 20 

954  Out  of  His  Reckoning. 10 

9T9  Her  World  against  a  Lie 20 

990  Open  Sesame 20 

991  Mad  Dumaresq 20 

999    Fighting  the  Air 20 

BY  HELEN  HATHEBS 

165    Eyre's  Acquittal 10 

1046  Coinin'  Thro'  th«  Rye 20 

1047  Sam's  Sweetheart 20 

1048  Story  of  a  Sin 2'J 

1049  Cherry  Ripe 20 

1060  My  Lady  Green  Sleeves — 20 

BY  A.  MATHEY 

46    DukoofKandos 20 

60    The  Two  Duchesses ..20 

BY  W.  S.  MAYO 

76    TheBerber ^, 20 

BT  J.  H.  McGABTHT 

115    An  Outline  of  Irish  History 10 

BT  JUSTIN  McGABTHT,  M.P. 

278    MaidofAthens 20 

BT  T.  L.  MEADE 

328    How  It  All  Came  Round 20 

BT  OWEN  MEBEDITH 

331    Luciie 20 

BT  JOHN  MILTON 

389    Paradise  Lost 20 

BT  WILLIAM  MINTO 

377    Lifeof  Defoe 10 

BT  MBS.  MOLESWOBTH 

1008  Marrying  and  Giving  in  Marriage  .  .10 

BT  THOMAS  MOOBE 

416    Lalla  Rookh 20 

487    Poems 40 

BT  J.  C.  MOBBIbON 

883    Life  of  Gibbon .10 


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407    Life  of  Burke 10 

BY  EDWARD  H.  MOTT 

J39    Pike  County  Folks  20 

BY  ALAN  MUIR 

312    Golden  Girls 20 

BY  LOUISA  MUHLBACH 

1000  Frederick  the  Groat  and  his  Court.. 30 

1014  The  Daughter  of  an  Empress 30 

1033  Goethe  and  Schiller 30 

BY  MAX  MULLEB 

130    India :  What  Can  It  Teach  Us  ? ....  20 

BY  DAVID  CHRISTIE  MURRAY 

197    By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea 15 

758    Cynic  Fortune 10 

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410    Life  of  Wordsworth 10 

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33    John  Halifax  20 

435    Miss  Tommy 15 

751    King  Arthur 20 

BY  FLORENCE  NEELY 

BG4    Hand-Book  for  the  Kitchen 20 

BY  REV.  R.  H.  NEWTON 

83    lUght  and  Wrong  Uses  of  the  Bible . ,  20 

BY  JOHN  NICHOL 

347    Life  of  Byron 10 

BY  JAMES  R.  NICHOLS,  M.D. 

875    Science  ut  Home 20 

BY  W.  E.  NORRIS 

108    No  New  Thing 20 

692    That  Terrible  Man 10 

779    My  Friend  Jim 10 

BY  CHRISTOPHER  NORTH 

439    Noctes  Ainbrosianae 30 

BY  LAURENCE  OLIPHANT 

19G    AltioraPeto 20 

BY  MRS.  OLIPHANT 

124  The  Ladies  Lindorcs 20 

179  The  Little  Pilgrim 10 

175  Sir  Tom 20 

am  The  Wizard's  Son 25 

SOS  Old  Lrtdy  Mary 10 

602  Oliver's  Bride    10 

717  A  Country  Gentleman 20 

Kn  The  Son  of  his  Father 20 

92;)  John  :  a  Love  Story 20 

1>25  A  Poor  Gentleman 20 

994  Lucy  Crofton 10 

BY  OUIDA 

112  "Wanda.  2  Parts,  ouch 15 

127  Under  Two  Flags,  2  Parts,  each ....  20 

?87  Pr'noess  Napi-axine 25 

fi75  A  Rainy  June 10 

703  Moths 20 

790  Othmar 20 

K05  A  House  Party 10 

C52  Friendship 20 

f53  In  Maremma 20 

K')4  Signii 20 

b50  Ptwcarel 20 


BY  MAX  O'RELL 

330    John  Bull  and  Mis  Island SO 

459    John  Bull  and  His  Daughters 30 

BY  ALBERT  K.  OWEN 

655    Integral  Co-operation 30 

BY  LOUISA  FABB 

42    Bobin    20 

BY  MARK  FATTISON 

392    Lifeof  Milton 10 

BY  JAMES  FAYN 

187    Thicker  than  Water 20 

330    The  Canon's  Ward 20 

659    Luck  of  the  Darrella 20 

BY  HENRY  FETEBSON 

1015  Pemberton 30 

BY  ED6AB  ALLAN  FOE 

403    Poems 20 

426    Narrative  of  A.  Gordon  Pym 15 

432    Gold  Bug,  and  Other  Tales 15 

438    The  Assignation,  and  Other  Tales.  .16 
447    The  Murders  in  the  Rue  Morgue 15 

BY  WILLIAM  FOLE,  F.B.S. 

406    The  Theory  of  the  Modern  Scien- 
tific Game  of  Whist 15 

BY  ALEXANDEB  FOFE 

391    Homer's  Odyssey 20 

396    Homer's  Iliad 30 

457    Poems 30 

BY  JANE  FOBTEB 

189    Scottish  Chiefs,  Part  1 20 

Scottish  Chiefs,  Part  II 20 

382    Thaddeus  of  Warsaw 25 

BY  C.  F.  POST  AND  FBED.  C. 
LEUBUCHEB 

838    The  George-Hewitt  Campaign 20 

BY  ADELAIDE  A.  FBOCTEB 

339    Poems 20 

BY  AGNES  BAY 

1010  Mrs.  Gregory 20 

BY  CHARLES  READE 

28  Singleheart  and  Doubleface 10 

415  A  Perilous  Secret »J 

7.59  Foul  Play 20 

773  Put  Yourself  in  his  Place 20 

913  Griffith  Gaunt 20 

914  A  Terrible  Temi  tation 20 

915  Very  Hard  Cash 20 

916  It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend 20 

917  The  Knightsbridge  Mystery  10 

918  A  Woman  Hater 20 

919  P.eadiana 10 


BY  REBECCA  FERGUS  BEDD 


16 

408 


550 
599 


101 


Freckles 20 

The  Brierfleld  Tragedy 20 

BY  "BITA" 

Dame  Durden 90 

Like  Dian's  Kiss , SO 

BY  SIB  H.  BOBEBTB 

Harry  Holbrooke ,,........  .SO 


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LOVELL'S   LIBRARY. 


BY  A.  M.  F.  BOfilNSON 

Aiden 15 

BY  BEQINA  MABIA  BOCHE 

11    Children  of  the  Abbey 30 

BY  BLANCHE  BOOSEVELT 

Marked  "  In  Haste" 20 

BY  DANTE  B08SETTI 

Poems 20 

BY  MBS.  BOWSON 

Charlotte  Temple 10 

BY  JOHN  BUSKIN 

R7    ScRame  and  Lilies 10 

D5    Crown  of  Wild  Olives Id 

Ethics  of  the  Dust 10 

Queen  of  tlie  Air 10 

Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture yO 

Lectures  on  Architecture  and  Paint- 


S.39 
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344 
677 
650 
6f)5 
668 

"873 
676 
679 
B2 
685 
688 
707 
708 
713 
714 


123 

S99 
&33 
834 
8:^5 
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ing. 


Stones  of  Venice,  8  Vols.,  each 25 

Modern  Painters,  Vol.  1 20 

"  «•        Vol.  II -M 

"  "        Vol.  Ill 20 

"  *'        Vol.  IV 2.T 

»  "        Vol.  V 25 

King  of  the  v.  ilden  River 10 

Unto  this  Last 10 

Munera  Fulveris 15 

"  A  Joy  Forever  " 15 

The  Pleasures  of  England 10 

The  Two  Paths 20 

Lectures  on  Art 15 

Aratra  Pentelici 15 

Time  and  Tide 15 

Mornings  in  Florence 15 

St.  Mark's  Rest 15 

Deucalion 15 

Art  of  England 15 

Eagle's  Nest    15 

"  Our  Fathers  Have  Told  Us" 15 

Proserpina 15 

Val  d'Amo 15 

Love's  Meinie 15 

Fors  Clavigera,  Part  1 30 

"         Part  It 30 

"  "  Part  III 30 

*♦  *'  PartlV 30 

BY  W.  GLABK  BUSSELL 

A  Sea  Queen 20 

John  Holdsworth .20 

A  Voyage  to  the  Cape 20 

Jack's  Courtship 20 

A  Sailor's  Sweelhnart .20 

On  the  Fo'k'sle  Head 20 

The  Golden  Hope 20 

BY  DORA  BUSSELL 

The  Broken  Seal 20 

BY  OEOBOE  SAND 

The  Tower  of  Percemont 20 

The  Lilies  of  Florence 20  1 

BY  MBS.  W.  A.  SAVILLE 

Social  Etiquette 15 

BY  J.  X.  B.  SAINTINE 

Picciola 10 


BY  J.  0.  F.  VON  SCHILLEB 

341  Schiller's  Poems 21 

BY  MICHAEL  SCOTT 

171  Tom  Cringle's  Log 20 

BY  SIB  WALTER  SCOTT 

145  I vanhoe,  2  Parts,  each 15 

359  Lrtdy  of  the  Lake,  with  Notes 20 

489  Bride  of  Laiuniermoor 2# 

490  Black  Dwarf    10 

492  Castle  Dangerous 15 

493  Legend  of  Montrose 15 

495  The  Surgeon's  D.iughter 10 

499  Heart  of  Mid-Lotliiuu oO 

502  VVaverley i'O 

.504  Fortunes  of  Nigel 20 

509  Peveril  of  the  Peak 30 

615  The  Pirate 20 

536  Poetical  Works 40 

544  Redgauntlet ',5 

551  Woodstock 2U 

557  Count  Robert  of  Paris 2U 

fi69  The  Abbot 2) 

575  Quentin  Diirwiird iO 

581  The  Talisman 20 

586  St.  Ronan"s  Well i'O 

r)[>^  Anne  of  Geier.-^tcin 20 

6U5  Aunt  Margaret's  Mirror 10 

607  Chronicles  of  the  Canongatc 15 

609  The  Monastery 20 

620  Guy  Mannering ~  0 

(i'iS  Kenilworth 25 

6i9  The  Antiquary 20 

im  Rob  Rov 20 

635  The  Betrothed 90 

638  Fair  Maid  of  Perth 20 

641  Old  Mortality 20 

BY  EUGENE  SGBIBE 

22  Fleurette 20 

BY  PRINCIPAL  SHAIBP 

334  Life  of  Burns 10 

BY  MABY  W.  SHELLEY 

5  Frankenstein 10 

BY  PEBCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY 

549  Complrto  Poetical  Works 30 

BY  S.  SHELLEY 

191  The  Nautz  Family 20 

BY 

640 
648 
653 
657 
662 
()71 
674 
677 
680 
684 
687 
690 
693 
('97 
702 
703 
705 


WILLIAM  OILMOBF  SIMMS 

The  Partisan SO 

Mcllichampe ?M 

The  Yeinassee oO 

Katherine  Walton 30 

Southward  Ho  ! 30 

The  Scout 30 

The  Wigwam  and  Cabin 30 

Vasconselos SO 

Confession 30 

Woodcraft 30 

Richard  Hurdis 30 

Guy  Rivers 30 

Border  Beagles 80 

The  Forayers 30 

Charlemont .'"0 

Eutaw 30 

Buuuchampe 80 


h 


I 


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10 


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B32 
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780 
425 
694 

110 
434 

65 

848 

449 


896 

401 


461 


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BT  J.  H.  BHOBTHOUSE 

Sir  Percival 10 

BT  J.  P.  SIMPSON 

Haunted  Hearts 10 

BY  EDITH  8IMC0X 

Men,  Women,  and  Lcvera 20 

BY  A.  P.  SINNETT 

Karma 20 

.      BY  HAWLEY  SMAKT 

Bad  to  Beat 10 

BY  SAMUEL  SMILES 
Self-Help 26 

BY  A.  SMITH 

A  Summer  in  Skye 20 

BY  OOLDWIN  SMITH 

False  Hopes 15 

Life  of  Cowper    10 

BY  J.  GBEGOBY  SMITH 

Selma 16 

BY  S.  M.  SMUCEEB 

Life  of  Webster,  2  Parts,  eacli 15 

BY  F.  SPIELHAGEN 

Quisiana  20 

BY  LESLIE  STEPHEN 

LifeofPope 10 

Life  of  Johnson 10 

BY  STABEWEATHEB  AND 

WILSON 
Socialism 10 

BY  STEPNIAE 

Underground  Russia 20 


BY  ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON 

767  Kidnapped 20 

768  Strange  Case  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr. 

Hvde 10 

769  Prince  Otto 10 

770  The  Dynamiter 20 

793    New  Arabian  Nights 20 

819    Trensnre  Island 20 

921    The  Merry  Men 20 

BY  HESBA  STBETTON 

729    In  Prison  and  Out 20 

BY  EUGENE  SUE 

Mysteries  of  Paris,  2  Part*,  each    .  .20 
The  Wandering  Jew,  2  Parts,  each  .20 

BY  DEAN  SWIFT 

Gulliver's  Travels 2C 

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BURNE. 

412    Poems 20 

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361    Life  of  Shelley IQ 

BY  H.  A.  TAINE 

442    Taine's  English  Literature 40 


776 


68 


BT   NIKOLAI   O.TCHEBHmS^ 
COSKT 

1017  AVltal  Question S» 

BT  LORD  TENNTSON 

446    Poems 40 

BT  W.  M.  THACKEBAT 

141  Henry  Esmond 20 

143  DeniaDuval 20 

148  Catherine 10 

156  Lovel,  the  Widower 10 

164  Barry  Lyndon 20 

172  Vanity  Fair 30 

193  History  of  Pendennis,  2 Parts,  each..20 

211  The  Newcomes,  2  Parts,  each 20 

220  Book  of  Snobs 10 

229  Paris  Sketches 20 

2;i5  Adventuresof  Philip,  2  Parts,  each    15 

238  The  Virginians,  2  Parts,  each 20 

252  Critical  Reviews,  etc 10 

256  Eastern  Sketches IQ 

262  Fatal  Boots,  etc  10 

264  The  Four  Georges 10 

280  Fitzboodle  Papers,  etc 10 

283  Roundabout  Papers 20 

285  A  Legend  of  the  Rhine,  etc 10 

286  Cox's  Diary,  etc 10 

292  Irish  Sketches,  etc 20 

29(i  Men's  Wives 10 

300  Novels  by  Eminent  Hands 10 

303  Character  Sketches,  etc  10 

304  Christmas  Books 20 

S06  Ballads 15 

o07  Yellowplush  Papers  10 

:^09  Sketches  and  Travels  in  London. . ,  .10 

313  English  Humorists IS 

316  Great  Hoggarty  Diamond IC 

320  The  Rose  and  the  Ring 10 

BT  JJDGE  D.  P.  THOMPSON 

21    The  Green  Mountain  Boys SO 

BT  THEODORE  TILTON 

94    Tempest  Tossed ,  Part  1 26 

94    Tempest  Tohsed,  Part  II 20 

BT  ANTHONT  TROLLOPE 

133    Mr.  Scarborough's  Family,  2  Parts, 

each 15 

Autobiography  of  Anthony  Trollope,20 

Life  of  Thackeray 10 

An  Old  Man's  Love 15 

BT  F.  A.  TUPPEB 

895    Moonshine 20 

BT  J.  VAN  LENNEP 
468    The  Count  of  Talavera 


251 
3ii7 


.ao  / 


BT  VIBGIL 


540    Poems   26 

BT  JULES  VEBNE 

34  800  Leagues  on  the  Amazon 10 

35  The  Cryptogram 10 

154  Tour  of  the  World  in  Eighty  Days. .  20 
166  20,000  Leagues  Under  the  Sea  ...  20 
185    The  Mysterious  Island,  3  Parts,  each.15 

BT  QUEEN  VICTOBIA 

355    More  Leaves  from  a  Life  in  the  High- 
lands  U 


11 


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LOVELL  8  LIBRARY. 


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1068  Mr.  Smith .20 

J056  The  History  of  a  Week .10 

'  1057  The  Baby's  Grandmother 20 

1058  Troublesome  Daughter 20 

1059  Cousins 20 

BT  OEOBGE  WALKEB 

13    The  Three  Spaniards 20 

BT  FBOF.  A.  W.  WABD 

413    Life  of  Chaucer 10 

BY  F.  WABDEN 

757    Doris'  Fortune 10 

900    At  tlie  World's  Mercy 10 

981    The  House  on  the  Marsh 20 

988    DeWee..     20 

983    A  Prince  of  Darkness 20 

BY  SAMTTEL  WABBEN 

935    Ten  Thousand  a  Year,  Part  i 20 

»  ••  "        Part  IT 20 

"  "  "        Part  III  ....20 

BT  DESHLEB  WELCH 

427    Life  of  Orover  Cleveland 20 

BT  E.  WEBITEB 

614    At  a  High  Price 20 

734    Vineta 20 

BT  MBS.  HENBT  WOOD 

54    East  Lynne 20 

902    The  Mystery 20 

BT  MBS.  WHITCHEB 

194    Widow  Bedott  Papers 20 

BT  J.  G.  WHITTIEB 

450    Poems 20 

BT  VIOLET  WHYTE 

963    Her  Johnnie 20 

BT  W.  M.  WILLIAMS 

80    Science  in  Short  Chapters 20 


BT  K.  P.  WIL1I8 
852   Poems  ...  ai 

BY  C.  P.  WINGATE 

880    Twilight  Club  Tracts 20 

BY  EDMUND  YATES 

723  Running  the  Gauntlet 20 

724  Broken  to  Harness 20 

BY  CHABLOTTE  M.  YQNGE 

858    A  Moiiem  Telemachus yOl 

809    Love  and  Life 2(f 

BY  EBKEST  A.  YOUNG         | 

666    Bnrbara's  Rival 20 

691    A  Woman's  Honor 20 

MISCELLANEOUS 

26  Life  of  Washington 20 

87  Paul  and  Virginia 10 

47  Baron  Munchausen 10 

68  The  Vendetta,  by  Kalzac    20 

6fi  Margaret  and  her  Bridesmaids 20 

72  Queen  of  the  County .  .20 

98  The  Gypsy  Queen 20 

118  A  New  Lease  of  Life 20 

169  Beyond  the  Sunrise 20 

181  Whist,  or  Bumhlepuppy  ?  . . .  ' 10 

360  Modern     Christianity    a    Civilized 

Heathenism 15 

2fi5  Plutarch's  Lives,  5  Parts,  each 20 

291  Famous  Fuimv  Fellows 20 

323  Life  of  Paul  Jones 20 

33-i  Evory-Day  Cook-Book 20 

340  Clayton's  Rangers 20 

385  Swiss  Family  Robinson 20 

386  Childhood  of  the  World 10 

397  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments 25 

402  How  He  Reached  the  White  House. 25 

433  Wrecks  in  the  Sea  of  Life 20 

434  Typhaines  Abbey 25 

483  Tlie  Child  Hunters 15 

857  A  Wilful  Young  Wonr.pn 20 

966  The  Story  of  Our  Mess 20 

9()7  The  Three  Bummers '^Q 

1019  Socur  Louise 20 


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X^A.TEH'-r       ISSXJES. 


9sa  At  the  WorkVa  Mercy,  F.  Warden.  10 
9'jl  Tbe  House  on  the  Marsh,  by  F. 

Warden 20 

982  Djldr^e.  l)y  F.  Warden  20 

933  A  Prince  of  Darkness,  by  Warden..  20 
93t  'Twixt  Smile  aiid  Tear,  by  Clay... 20 
9S.5  Lady  Dlaiia'a  Pi.'dc,  l)y  B.  M.  Clay.. 20 
9i0  Hclle  oi  Lynn,  by  Lerlha  M.  Clay... 20 
937  lloinaiRC  of  a  Poor  Young  I^Iau,  by 

O:;iavo  FouUlet  10 

9S9  Marjoriu'ri  Fate,  by  Bertha  M.Clay. 20 
939  a>vebt  Cytubeliuo,  by  B.  M.  Clay . .  .20 

990  Open  s  esaiiic,  by  Florence  Marryat  20 

991  Mad  Dumarosti,  by  F.  Marryat 20 

99ii  Camlllo,  by  Alexandre  Dumas,  Jr.. 10 

993  The  Child  Wife,  by  A.  M.  Howard.  10 

994  Lucy  Croflon,  by  BIis.  Oliphant...  .10 

995  Which  ShaU  It  Be  'i  Ijy  Mrs.  Alex- 

ander ... 20 

986  The  Queen  of  Hearts,  by  Collins. .  .20 
937  The  Golden  Hope,  by  W.  C.  Ku8BeU.20 

998  Beau  Tancrede,  by  Alex.  Dumas    20 

999  FlRhting  the  Air,  by  F.  Marryat.  .20 

1000  Frederick  the  liroat  and  his  Court, 

by  Louisa  Miihlbach 80 

1001  Frankley,  by  Henri  Greville 20 

1002  To  Call  Her  Mine,  by  W.  Be8ant.20 

1003  The  Haunted  Hotel,  by  W.  Collins.  10 

1004  This  Man's  Wife,  by  G.  M.  Fenn.  .20 

1005  Next  of  Kin  Wanted,  by  M.  Beth- 

am-Edwards 20 

1006  A   Daugliter  of  the   People,   by 

Georgiana  M.  Craik 20 

1007  Redeemed  by  Love,  by  B.  M.  Clay.20 

1008  Marrying  and  Giving  in  Marriage, 

by  Mrs.  Molesworth 10 

1009  The  Great  Hesyer,  by  F.  Barrctt..20 

1010  Mrs.  Gregory,  by  Agnes  Ray 20 

1011  Pirates  of  the  Prairies,  by  Aimard.lO 

1012  The  Squire's  Darling,  by  Clay. . .  10 

1013  The  Mystery  of  Colde  Fell,  by  Clay.20 

1014  The  Daughter  of  an  Empress,  by 

Louisa  Miihlbach 30 

1015  Pemberton,  by  Henry  Peterson... 30 

1016  Taras  Bulha,  by  Nikolai  V.  Gogol.. 20 

1017  A  Vital  Question,  by  Nikolai  G. 

Tchcrnufshevsky .  30 

1018  The  Condemned  Door,  by  F.  du 

Bolsgobey 20 

1019  Soeur  Louise  (Louise  de  Bruneval)20 

1020  Allan  Qiiatermain,  by  Haggard. .  .20 

1021  The     Trapper's     Daughter,     by 

Gustave  Almard lo 

1022  Gooil-Bye,  Sweetheart,  by  Rhoda 

Broughton  20 

1023  Red  as  a  Rose  is  She,  by  Rhoda 

B^oughton 20 

1024  Comeih  up  as  a  Flower,  by  Rhoda 

Broughton ' 20 

1025  Not   WlEely,    But  Too  Well,  by 

Rhoda  Broughton 20 


102G  Nancy,  by  Rhoda  Brongbton 20 

1U27  Joan,  by  Rhoda  Bioughton 2a 

1028  A  Near  Relation,  by  Coleridge 20 

1029  Breuda  Yorke,  l.y  Mary  Cecil  Hay  10 

1030  On  Her  Wedding  Morn,  by  Clay. .  10 

1031  The  Shattered  Idol,  by  B.  M.  Clay.  10 

1032  The  Tiger  Slayer,  by  G.  Almard.. 10 

1033  Letty  Leigh,  by  Bertha  M.  Clay.  ..10 

1034  Mary  Auerley.by  R.  D.  Blackmore.20 

1035  Alice  Lorraine,  by  Blackmore...  20 

1036  Chrlstowell,  by.R.  D.  Blackmore  .20 

1037  Cli^ra  Vaughaa,  by  Blackmore.... 20 

1038  Cripps  the  Carrier,  by  Blackmore.20 

1039  Remarkable  History  of  Sir  Thomas 

Upmore,  by  R.  D.  Blackmore... 20 

1040  Erema;  or.  My  Fathei's-Sln,  by 

R.  D.  Blackmore 20 

1041  The  Mystery  of  the  Holly  Tree,  by 

Bertha  M.  Clay  10 

1042  The  Earl's  Error,  by  B.  M.  Clay. .  10 

1043  Arnold's  Promise,  by  B.  M.  Clay..lO 

1044  Forging  the  Fetler3,by  Alexander.lO 

1045  The  Trappers   o"f  Arkansas,  'by 

Gustave  Aimard 10 

1046  CJornin'  thro'  the  Rye,  by  Mather8.20 

1047  Sam's  Sweetheart,  by  Mat  hers....  20 
1U48  Story  of  a  Sin.  by  H.  B.  Mathers..20 

1049  Cherry  Rlne,  by  H.  B.  Mathers  .  .20 

1050  My  Lady  Green  Sleeves,  by  Math- 

ers  20 

1051  An  Unnatural  Bondage,  by  Clay.  .10 

1052  Border  Rlttea,  by  Gustave  Aimard.lO 

1053  Gold  Elsie,  by  E.  Marlitt 20 

1054  (ioethe  and  Schiller,  by  Miihlbach.  30 

1055  Mr.  Smith,  by  L.  B.  Walford. . .    .20 

1056  The  History  of  a  Week.by  Walford. 10 

1057  The  Baby's  Graudmothei',  by  Wal- 

ford   20 

1058  Troublesome  Daughters,  by  Wal- 

ford ...   20 

1059  Cousins,  by  L.  F..  Walford 2  J 

loco  The  Bag  of  Dlamond-i,  by  Fenn    '/O 

1061  Red  Spider,  by  S.  Baring-Gould    to 

1062  Dick's  Wandering,  by  J.  SturRls..2J 

1063  The  Freebooters,  by  G.  Almard. .  .30 

1064  The  Duke's  Secret,  by  B.  M.  Clay  '.iO 

1065  A  Modern  Circe,  by  "rhe  DuchcoB  20 

1066  An  American  Journey, by  Avfehrf;.uo 

1067  Gsofifrey  Moncton,  by  S.  Moodie..30 

1068  Flora  Lyndsav,  by  S.  Moodie....  20 
10C9  The  White  Scalper,  by  G.  Aimai  u  10 

1070  Confessions  of  an  English  Orium 

Eater,  by  Thomas  de  Qnlucey..  20 

1071  Guide  of  the  Desert,  by  Aimaid..l3 

From  Aavance  Sheets: 

1072  "  The  Duchess,"  by  The  Duchcs3.20 

1073  Scheherazade,  by  F.  Warden 'io 

1074  Roughing  it  in  the  Bush,  by  Su- 

sanna Moodie.. 20 

1075  The  Insurgent  Chief,  by  Almard. .  10 


Dealers  can  always  obtain  complete  Catalogues  with  imprint,  for  free  distribu- 
tion, on  application  to  the  Publishers, 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY, 

14  &    16  Vcsoy  Street,  New  York. 


on... .20 

a 20 

age 20 

cUHay  10 
yr  (jiay.io 
M.Clay.  10 
Liiuard..lO 
.Clay...  10 
,ckmore,20 
nore ...  20 
jkuiore  .20 
more.. .  20 
ickniore.20 
■  Thomas 
;moie...2(» 
I. bin,  by 

20 

Tree,  by 

10 

yi.  Clay..  10 
M.  Clay..iO 
lexander.lO 
msas,  'by 

10 

'MatUer8.20 
at  hers.... 20 
Matliera..20 
latliers  .  .20 
by  Matb- 

20 

liyClay-.lO 
e  Aimard.lO 

,t 20 

rtiiUlbacb.sa 

Iford. . .  .20 
Y  Waif  or  d.  10 
;r,byWal- 

20 

'8,  by  Wal- 
, 20 

3rd' '^^ 

by  Fenn  '/O 
iig-Gould  to 
J.  Sturpia.SO 

Ainiard...lO 
B.  M.  Clay  '.iO 
tcDucheoS  20 
by  Avfellnu-iJO 
S.'Moodie..ao 
VIoodie....  20 

G.  Aiuiai  u  10 
rlisb  Oi'iuiu 

(Jniucey..  20 
y  Almai"d..l3 

eets : 

le  DacUe33.20 

harden 'M 

usU.  by  Su- 

by  Alinard. .  10 
r  free  disiribu- 


Mew  York. 


LIFE  IN  THE  BACKWOODS, 


A  SEQUEL  TO 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


By  SUSANNA  MOODIE, 

AUTHOR    OF    "LIFE    IN    THE   CLEARINGS,"     "FLORA    LYNDSAY," 
''QEOPFKEl    MONCTON,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


I  Bketch  from  Natiire,  and  the  pictiire's  true ; 
Whato'er  the  subject,  whether  grave  or  gay. 
Painful  experience  in  a  distam  land 
Made  it  mine  own. 


-ti-'i 


NEW  YOEK: 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY, 

14  AND  16  Vesey  Street. 


\  0  5  "\ 


\  .';  -i  -^ 


1^ 


i  o  o 


CAKAy^Ari* 


fE3  2  S  1951 


131900 


THOW'9 

MlNTWa  AND  BOOKBINDINQ  COMfANV, 

NCW  YORK. 


t 


o  o  ]sr  T  E  :n^  r  s . 

•♦-• — 

PAOK. 

CHAPTER  I.— A  Journey  to  the  Woods— Corduroy  Roads— No  Ghosts 

in  Canada 5 

CHAPTER  II.— The  Wilderness  and  our  Indian  Friends— The  House  on 

Fire— No  Papoose  ;  the  Mother  all  alone 80 

CHAPTER  III.— Running  the  Fallow— A  Wall  of  Fire—"  But  God  can 

save  us  yet." 80 

CHAPTER  IV.— Our  Logging  Bee—"  Och  I  my  ould  granny  taught  me  " 

—Signal  Mercies 58 

CHAPTER  v.— A  Trip  to  Stony  Lak&-A  Feast  in  an  Outhouse— The 

Squatter's  Log  Hut ..,. ..  .    72 

CHAPTER  VI.— Disappointed  Hopes— Milk,  Bread  and  Potatoes  our 

only  Fare- The  Deer  Hunt 87 

CHAPTER  VII.— The  Little  Stumpy  Man— Hiding  from  the  Sheriff- An 

ill>natured  Volunteer 101 

CHAPTER  VIII.— The  Fire—"  Oh,  dear  Mamma,  do  save  Papa's  Flnte  " 

— "  No  time  to  be  clane  I" 123 

CHAPTER  IX.— The  Outbreak— Moodie  joins  the  Volunteers— "  Scrib- 

blin  and  Scrabblin'  when  you  should  be  in  bed ' ' 143 

CHAPTER  X.— The  Whirlwind— Two  Miles  of  Trees  Levelled  to  the 

Ground— Sick  Children 161 

CHAPTER  XI,— The  Walk  to  Dummer— Honest,  Faithful  Jenny— A  sad 

History— Tried  and  Pound  most  Faithful 169 

CHAPTER  XII.— A  Change  in  our  Prospects— In  a  Canoe— Nearing  the 

Rapids— Dandelion  Coffee 197 

CHAPTER  Xni.— The  Magic  Spell— "  The  Sleighs  are  Come  1  "—Leav- 
ing the  Bush— End  of  Life  in  the  Backwoods 209 


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LIFE  IN  THE  BM:KW00DS, 


A  SEQUEL  TO 


EOUGIimG  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


►-•♦- 


CHAPTEll    I. 


A    JOURNEY    TO    THE     WOODS. 

Tis  well  for  us  poor  deuizens  ur  earth 
That  Oud  coucuals  the  future  from  our  gaze  ; 
Or  Hope,  the  blessed  wutchor  on  Life's  towor. 
Would  fold  hur  wings,  and  on  the  dreary  waste 
Close  the  bright  ov^  thnt  thrnush  tim  murky  clouds 
Of  blank  Despair  aiili  seea  the  glorious  sun. 


i 


TT  was  a  bright,  frosty  morning  when  I  bade  adieu  to  tne 
-*-  fiirm,  the  birthplace  of  my  little  Agnes,  who,  nestled 
beneath  my  cloak,  was  sweetly  sleeping  on  my  knee, 
unconscious  of  the  long  journey  before  us  into  the  wilderness. 
The  sun  had  not  as  yet  risen.  Anxious  to  get  to  our  place 
of  destination  before  dark,  we  started  as  early  as  we  could. 
Our  own  fine  team  had  been  sold  the  day  before  for  forty 

pounds;  and  one  of  our  neighbours,  a  Mr.  D ,  was  to 

convey  us  and  our  household  goods  to  Douro  for  the  sum  of 
twenty  dollars.  During  the  week  he  had  made  several  jour- 
neys, with  furniture  and  stores ;  and  all  that  now  remained 
was  to  be  conveyed  to  the  woods  in  two  large  lumber-sleighs, 
one  driven  by  himself,  the  other  by  a  younger  brother. 


6 


ROUOniNG  IT  IN  THE  JiUSH. 


y  ! 


It  was  not  without  regret  tlmt  I  left  Melsetter,  for  so  my 
husband  had  called  the  plaee,  after  his  father's  estate  in  Ork- 
ney, it  was  a  beautiful,  [>icturesque  spot;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
evil  neighbourhood,  I  had  learned  to  love  it ;  indeed,  it  was 
much  against  my  wish  that  it  was  sold.  I  had  a  great  dislike 
to  removing,  which  involves  a  necessary  loss,  and  is  apt  to 
give  to  tht'.  emigrant  roving  and  unsettled  habits.  But  all 
regrets  were  now  useless;  and  happily  unconscious  of  the  life 
of  toil  and  anxiety  that  awaited  us  in  those  dreadful  woods,  I 
tried  my  best  to  be  cheerful,  and  to  regard  the  future  with  a 
hopeful  eye. 

Our  driver  was  a  shrewd,  clever  man,  for  his  opportunities. 
He  took  charge  of  the  living  cargo,  which  consisted  of  my  hus- 
band, our  maid-servant,  the  two  little  children,  and  myself — 
besides  a  large  hamper,  full  of  poultry — a  dog,  and  a  cat. 
The  lordly  sultan  of  the  imprisoned  seraglio  thought  fit  to 
conduct  himself  in  a  very  eccentric  manner,  for  at  every  barn- 
yard we  happened  to  pass,  he  clapped  his  wings,  and  crowed 
so  long  and  loud  that  it  afforded  great  amusement  to  the 
whole  party,  and  doubtless  was  very  edifying  to  the  poor 
hens,  who  lay  huddled  together  as  mute  as  mice. 

"  lliat  'ere  rooster  thinks  he's  on  the  top  of  the  heap,"  said 
our  driver,  laughing.  "  1  guess  he's  not  used  to  travelling  in 
a  close  conveyance.  Listen!  How  all  the  crowers  in  the 
neighbourhood  give  him  back  a  note  of  defiance !  But  he 
knows  that  he's  safe  enough  at  the  bottom  of  the  basket." 

The  day  was  so  bright  for  the  time  of  year  (the  first  week 
in  February),  that  we  suffered  no  inconvenience  from  the  cold. 
Little  Katie  was  enchanted  with  the  jingling  of  the  sleigh-bells, 
and,  nestled  among  the  packages,  kept  singing  or  talking  to 
the  horses  in  her  baby  lingo.  Trifling  as  these  little  inci- 
dents were,  before  we  had  proceeded  ten  miles  on  our  long 
•oumey,  they  revived  my  drooping  spirits,  and  I  began  to 


II 


A  JOURNEY  TO  THE   WOODS, 


feel  a  lively  interest  in  the  scenes  thiough  which  we  wer6 
passing. 

The  first  twenty  miles  of  the  way  was  over  a  hilly  and 
well-cleared  country;  and  as  in  winter  the  deep  snow  fills  up 
the  inequalities,  and  makes  all  roads  alike,  wo  glided  as  swifl- 
ly  and  steadily  along  as  if  they  had  been  the  best  highways 
in  the  world.  Anon,  the  clearings  began  to  diminiah,  and  tall 
woods  arose  on  either  side  of  the  path ;  their  solemn  aspect, 
and  the  deep  silence  that  brooded  over  their  vast  solitudes, 
inspiring  the  mind  with  a  strange  awe.  Not  a  breath  of  wind 
stirred  the  leafless  branches,  whose  huge  shadows,  reflected 
upon  the  dazzling  white  covering  of  snow,  lay  so  perfectly 
still,  that  it  seemed  as  if  Nature  had  suspended  her  opera- 
tions, that  life  and  motion  had  ceased,  and  that  she  was  sleep- 
ing in  her  winding-sheet,  upon  the  bier  of  death. 

"  I  guess  you  will  find  the  woods  pretty  lonesome,"  said 
Dur  driver,  whose  thoughts  had  been  evidently  employed  on 
the  same  subject  as  our  own.  "  We  were  once  in  the  woods, 
but  emigration  has  stepped  ahead  of  us,  and  made  our'n  a 
cleared  part  of  the  country.  When  I  was  a  boy,  all  this 
country,  for  thirty  miles  on  every  side  of  us,  was  bush  land. 
As  to  Peterborough,  the  place  was  unknown ;  not  a  settler 
had  ever  passed  through  the  great  swamp,  and  some  of  them 
believed  that  it  was  the  end  of  the  world." 

"  What  swamp  is  that  ?"  asked  I. 

"  Oh,  the  great  Cavan  swamp.  We  are  just  two  miles 
from  it;  and  I  tell  you  the  horses  wiM  need  a  good  rest,  and 
ourselves  a  good  dinner,  by  the  time  we  are  through  it.  Ah ! 
Mrs.  Moodie,  if  ever  you  travel  that  way  in  summer,  you 
will  know  something  about  corduroy  roads.  I  was  'most 
jolted  to  death  last  fall ;  I  thought  it  would  have  been  no 

bad  notion  to  have  insured  my  teeth  before  I  left  C , 

I  really   expected    that    they  would  have    been    shook   out 


u 


A 


8 


ROUGHING  IT  LY  THE  BUS  11. 


til 


of  my  head  before  we  had  done  manoeuvririg  over  the  big 
logs." 

"  How  will  my  crockery  stand  it  in  the  next  sleigh  ?" 
quoth  I.  "  If  the  road  is  such  as  you  describe,  I  am  afraid 
that  I  shall  not  bring  a  whole  plate  to  Douro." 

"  Oh !  the  snow  is  a  great  leveller — it  makes  all  rough 
places  smooth.  But  with  regard  to  this  swamp,  I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you.  About  ten  years  ago,  no  one  had  ever  seen 
the  other  side  of  it ;  and  if  pigs  or  cattle  strayed  away  into 
it,  they  fell  a  prey  to  the  wolves  and  bears,  and  were  seldom 
recovered. 

"  An  old  Scotch  emigrant,  who  had  located  himself  on  this 
side  of  it,  so  often  lost  his  beauts  that  he  determined  during 
the  summer  season  to  try  and  explore  the  place,  and  see  if 
there  were  any  end  to  it.  So  he  takes  an  axe  on  liis  shoul- 
der, and  a  bag  of  provisions  for  the  week,  not  forgetting  a 
flask  of  whiskey,  and  off  he  starts  all  alone,  and  tells  his  wife 
that  if  he  never  returned,  she  and  little  Jock  must  try  and 
carry  on  the  farm  without  him ;  but  he  was  determined  to 
see  the  end  of  the  swamp,  even  if  it  led  to  the  other  world. 
He  fell  upon  a  fresh  cattle-track,  which  he  followed  all  that 
day ;  and  tow£.rds  night  he  found  himself  in  the  heart  of  a 
tangled  wilderness  of  bushes,  and  himself  half  eaten  vp  with 
mos(|uitoes  and  black-flies.  He  was  more  than  tempted  to 
give  in,  and  return  home  by  the  first  glimpse  of  light. 

"  The  Scotch  are  a  tough  people ;  they  are  not  easily  daunted 
— a  few  difficulties  only  seem  to  make  them  more  eager  to 
get  on;  and  he  felt  ashamed  the  next  moment,  as  he  told  me, 
of  giving  up.  So  he  finds  out  a  large,  thick  cedar-tree  for  his 
bed,  climbs  up,  and  coiling  himself  among  the  branches  like  a 
bear,  he  was  soon  fast  asleep. 

"The  next  morning,  by  daylight,  he  continued  his  journey, 
not  forgetting  to  blaze  with  his  axe  the  trees  to  the  right  and 


\ 


A  JOURNEY  TO  TEE  WOODS. 


left  as  he  went  along.    The  ground  was  so  spongy  and  wet 
that  at  every  step  he  plunged  up  to  his  knees  in  wate^,  but  he 
seemed  no  nearer  the  end  of  the  swamp  than  he  had  been  the 
day  before.     He  saw  several  deer,  a  raccoon,  and  a  ground- 
hog, during  his  walk,  but  was  unmolested  by  bears  or  wolves. 
Having  passed  through  several  creeks,  and  killed  a  great  many 
snakes,  he  felt  so  weary  towards  the  second  day  that  he  de- 
termined to  go  home  the  next  morning.     But  just  as  he  began 
to  think  his  search  was  fruitless,  he  observed  that  the  cedars 
and  tamaracks  which  had  obstructed  his  path  became  less 
numerous,  and  were  succeeded  by  bass  and  soft  maple.     The 
ground,  also,  became  less  moist,  and  he  was  soon  ascending  a 
rising  slope,  covered  with  oak  and  beech,  which  shaded  land 
of  the  very  best  quality.     The  old  man  was  now  fiilly  con- 
vinced that  he  had  cleared  the  great  swamp ;  and  that,  instead 
of  leading   to   the  other  worlds   it  had   conducted  him   to 
a  country  that  would  yield  the  very  best  returns  for  cultiva- 
tion.    His  favourable  report  led  to  the  formation  of  the  road 
that  we  are  about  to  cross,  and  to  the  settlement  of  Peter- 
borough, which  is  one  of  the  most  promising  new  settlements 
in  this  district,  and  is  surrounded  by  a  splendid  back  country." 
We  were  descending  a  very  steep  hill,  and  encountered  an 
ox-sleigh,  which  was  crawling  slowly  up  it  in  a  contrary  direc- 
tion.    Three  people  were  seated  at  the  bottom  of  the  vehicle 
upon  straw,  which  made  a  cheap  substitute  for  buffalo  robes. 
Perched,  as  we   were,  upon   the   crown  of  the  height,  we 
looked  completely  down  into  the  sleigh,  and  during  the  whole 
course  of  my  life  I  never  saw  three  uglier  mortals  collected 
into  such  a  narrosv  space.     The  man  was  blear-eyed,  with  a 
hare-lip,  through  which  protruded  two  dreadful  yellow  teeth 
which  resembled  the  tusKs  of  a  boar.     Tlie  woman  was  long- 
faced,  high  cheek-boned,  red-haired,  and  freckled  all  over  like 
a  toad.     The  boy  resembled  his  hideous  mother,  but  with  the 

VOL.  II  1* 


(I: 


'  }■ 


iO 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


t. 


ilj! 


addition  of  a  villainous  obliquity  of  vision  which  rendered  him 
the  most  disgustuig  object  in  this  singular  trio. 

As  we  passed  them,  our  driver  gave  a  knowing  nod  tc 
my  husband,  directing,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  quizzical 
glance  towards  the  strangers,  as  he  exclaimed,  "  We  are  in 
luck,  sir !  I  think  that  'ere  sleigh  may  be  called  Beauty's  egg- 
basket  !" 

We  made  ourselves  very  merry  at  the  poor  people's  ex- 
pense, and  Mr.  D ,  with  his  odd  stories  and  Yankeefied 

expressions,  amused  the  tedium  of  our  progress  through  the 
great  swamp,  which  in  summer  pr  nits  for  several  miles  one 
uniform  bridge  of  rough  and  unequal  logs,  all  laid  loosely 
across  huge  sleepers,  so  that  they  jumped  up  and  down,  when 
pressed  by  the  wheels,  like  the  keys  of  a  piano.  The  rough 
motion  ai^d  jolting  occasioned  by  this  collision  is  so  distress- 
ing that  it  never  fails  to  entail  upon  the  traveller  sore  bones 
and  an  aching  head  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  The  path  i.^  so 
narrow  over  these  logs  that  two  wagons  cannot  pass  without 
great  difficulty,  which  is  rendered  more  dangerous  by  the  deep 
natural  ditches  on  either  side  of  the  bridge,  formed  by  broad 
creeks  that  flow  out  of  the  swamp,  and  often  terminate  in 
mud-holes  of  very  ominous  dimensions,     llie  snow,  however, 

hid  from  us  all  the  ugly  features  of  the  road,  and  Mr.  D 

steered  us  through  it  in  perfect  safety,  and  landed  us  at  the 
door  of  a  little  log  house  which  crowned  the  steep  hill  on  the 
other  side  of  the  swamp,  and  which  he  dignified  with  the  name 
of  a  tavern. 

It  was  now  two  o'clock.  We  had  been  on  the  road  since 
seven ;  and  men,  women,  and  children  were  all  ready  for  the 

good  dinner  that  Mr.  D had  promised  us  at  this  splendid 

house  of  entertainment,  where  we  were  destined  to  stay  for 
two  hours,  to  refresh  ourselves  and  rest  the  horses. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  J ,  what  have  you  got  for  c»ur  dinner?'' 


'■ 


A  JOURNEY  TO   THE  WOODS. 


11 


\ 


-jr 


said  the  driver,  after  he  had  seen  to  the  accommodation  of  his 
teams. 

"  Fritters  and  pork,  sir.  Nothing  else  to  be  had  in  the 
woods.     Thank  God,  we  have  enough  of  that!" 

D shrugged  up  his  shoulders,  and  looked  at  us. 

"  We've  plenty  of  that  same  at  home.  But  hunger's  good 
sauce.  Come,  be  spry,  widow,  and  see  about  it,  for  I  am  very 
hungry." 

I  inquired  for  a  private  room  for  myself  and  the  children,  | 
but  there  were  no  private  rooms  in  the  house.  The  apart-; 
ment  we  occupied  was  like  the  cobbler's  stall  in  the  old  song,' 
and  I  was  obliged  to  attend  upon  them  in  public.  | 

"  You  have  much  to  learn,  ma'am,  if  you  are  going  to  the 
woods,"  said  Mrs.  J . 

"  To  unlearn,  you  mean,"  said  Mr.  D .     "  To  tell  you 

the  truth,  Mrs.  Moodie,  ladies  and  gentlemen  have  no  business 
in  the  woods.  Eddication  spoils  man  or  woman  for  that  loca- 
tion. So,  widow  (turning  to  our  hostess),  you  are  not  tired 
of  living  alone  yet  ?" 

"  No,  sir ;  I  have  no  wish  for  a  second  husband.  I  had 
enough  of  the  first.  I  like  to  have  my  own  way — to  lie  down 
mistress,  and  get  up  master." 

"  You  don't  like  to  be  put  out  of  your  old  way,"  returned 
he,  with  a  mischievous  glance. 

She  coloured  very  red ;  but  it  might  be  the  heat  of  the 
fire  over  which  she  was  frying  the  pork  for  our  dinner. 

I  was  very  hungry,  but  I  felt  no  appetite  for  the  dish 
she  was  preparing  for  us.  It  proved  salt,  hard,  and  unsa- 
voury. 

D pronounced   it  very  bad,  and  the  whiskey  still 

worse,  with  which  he  washed  it  down. 

I  asked  for  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  slice  of  bread.  But  Ihey 
were  out  of  tea,  and  the  hop-rising  had  failed,  and  there  wai 


' 


!^i 


Hi 


ipi  I 


12 


ROUOUINQ  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


no  bread  in  the  house.  For  tliis  disguscing  mtal  we  paid  at 
the  rate  of  a  quarter  of  a  dollar  a-head. 

I  was  glad  when,  the  horses  being  again  put  to,  we  escaped 
from  the  rank  odour  of  the  fned  pork,  and  were  once  more  in 
the  fresh  air. 

"  Well,  mister ;  did  not  you  grudge  your  money  for  that 

bad  meat  ?"  said  D ,  when  we  were  once  more  seated  in 

the  sleigh.  "  But  in  these  parts,  the  worse  the  fare  the  higher 
the  charge." 

"  I  would  not  have  cared,"  said  I,  "  if  I  could  have  got  a 
cup  of  tea." 

"  Tea  !  it's  poor  trash.  I  never  could  drink  tea  in  my  life. 
But  I  like  coffee,  when  'tis  boiled  till  it's  quite  black.  But 
coffee  is  not  good  without  plenty  of  trimmings." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  trimmings  ?" 

I         He  laughed.     "  Good  sugar,  and  sweet  cream.     Coffee  is 
not  worth  drinking  without  trimmings." 
,  Often  in  after  years  have  I  recalled  the  coffee  trimmings, 

I    when  endeavouring  to  drink  the  vile  stuff  which  goes  by  the 
I    name  of  coffee  in  the  houses  of  entertainment  in  the  country. 
We  had  now  passed  through  the  narrow  strip  of  clearing 
which  surrounded  the  tavern,  and  again  entered  upon  the 
woods.     It  was  near  sunset,  and  we  were  rapidly  descending 

Pa  steep  hill,  when  oiie  o^Jhe  traces  that  held  our  sleigh  sud- 
denly broke.     D pulled  up  in  order  to  repair  the  damage. 

His  brother's  team  was  close  behind,  and  our  unexpected 

stand-still  brought  the  horses  upon  us  before  J.  D could 

stop  them.  I  received  so  violent  a  blow  from  the  head  of 
one  of  them,  just  ir.  the  back  of  the  neck,  that  for  a  few 
minutes  I  was  stunned  and  insensible.  When  I  recovered,  1 
was  supported  in  the  arms  of  my  husband,  over  whose  knees 

I  was  leaning,  and  U was  rubbing  mj  hands  and  temples 

with  snow. 


A  JOURNEY  TO  THE  WOODS. 


13 


"  There,  Mr.  Moodie,  she's  coming  to.  I  thought  she  wa.? 
killed.  I  have  seen  a  man  before  now  killed  by  a  blow  from 
a  horse's  head  in  the  like  mam  er."  As  soon  as  we  could,  we 
resumed  our  places  in  the  sleigh ;  but  all  enjoyment  of  our 
journey,  had  it  been  otherwise  possible,  was  gone. 

When  we  reached  Peterborough,  Moodie  wished  us  tc 
remain  at  the  inn  all  night,  as  we  had  still  eleven  miles  of  our 
joiirn;;y  to  perform,  and  that  through  a  blazed  forest-road, 
little  travelled,  and  very  much  impeded  by  fallen  trees  and 
other  obstacles  ;  but  D — 


-  was  anxious  to  get  back  as  soon 
as  possible  to  his  own  home,  and  he  urged  us  very  pathetically 
to  proceed. 

The  moon  arose  during  our  stay  at  the  inn,  and  gleamed 
upon  the  straggling  frame  houses  which  then  formed  the  now 
populous  and  thriving  towTi  of  Peterborough.  We  crossed 
the  wild,  rushing,  beautiful  Otonabee  river  by  a  rude  bridge, 
and  soon  found  ourselves  journeying  over  the  plains  or  level 
heights  beyond  the  village,  which  were  thinly  wooded  with 
picturesque  groups  of  oak  and  pine,  and  very  much  resembled 
a  gentleman's  park  at  home.  Far  below,  to  our  right  (for  we 
wrere  upon  the  Smith-town  side)  we  heard  the  rushing  of  the 
river,  whose  rapid  waters  never  receive  curb  from  the  iron 
chain  of  winter.  Even  while  the  rocky  banks  are  coated  with 
ioo,  and  the  frost-king  suspends  from  every  twig  and  branch 
the  most  beautiful  and  fantastic  crystals,  the  black  waters 
rush  foaming  along,  a  thick  steam  rising  constantly  above  the 
rapids,  as  from  a  boiling  pot.  The  shores  vibrate  and  tremble 
beneath  the  force  of  the  impetuous  flood,  as  it  whirls  round 
cedar-crowned  islands  ahd  opposing  rocks,  and  hurries  on  to 
{)our  its  tribute  into  the  Rice  Lake,  to  swell  the  calm,  majestic 
grandeur  of  the  Trent,  till  its  waters  are  lost  in  the  beautiful 
bay  of  Quinte,  and  finally  merged  in  the  blue  ocean  of 
Ontario. 


•li 


1 

If 

■  t 

1 

4   ! 

1 

ii 


r 


iii 


14 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


The  most  renowned  of  our  English  rivers  dwindle  into  lit 
tie  muddy  rills  when  compared  with  the  sublimity  of  the 
Canadian  waters.  No  language  can  adequately  express  the 
solemn  grandeur  of  her  lake  and  river  scenery  ;  the  glorious 
islands  that  float,  like  visions  from  fairy  land,  upon  the  bosom 
of  these  azure  mirrors  of  her  cloudless  skies.  No  dreary 
breadth  of  marshes,  covered  with  flags,  hide  from  our  gaze 
the  expanse  of  heaven-tinted  waters ;  no  foul  mud-banks 
spread  their  unwholesome  exhalations  around.  The  rocky 
shores  are  crowned  with  the  cedar,  the  birch,  the  alder,  and 
soft  maple,  that  dip  their  long  tresses  in  the  pure  stream ; 
from  every  crevice  in  the  limestone  the  harebell  and  Canadian 
rose  wave  their  graceful  blossoms. 

The  fiercest  droughts  of  summer  may  diminish  the  volume 
and  power  of  these  romantic  streams,  but  it  never  leaves  their 
rocky  channels  bare,  nor  checks  the  mournful  music  of  their 
dancing  waves.  Through  the  openings  in  the  forest,  we  now 
and  then  caught  the  silver  gleam  of  the  river  tumbling  on  in 
moonlight  splendour,  while  the  hoarse  chiding  of  the  wind  in 
the  lofty  pines  above  us  gave  a  fitting  response  to  the  melan- 
choly cadence  of  the  waters. 

ITie  children  had  Tallen  asleep.  A  deep  silence  pervaded 
the  party.  Night  was  above  us  with  her  mysterious  stars. 
The  ancient  forest  stretched  around  us  on  every  side,  and  a 
foreboding  sa'"''ness  sunk  upon  my  heart.  Memory  was  busy 
with  the  events  of  many  years.  I  retraced  step  by  step  the 
pilgrimage  of  my  past  life^  until  arriving  at  that  passage  in 
its  sombre  history,  I  gazed  through  tears  upon  the  singularly 
savage  scene  around  me,  and  secretly  marvelled,  "What 
brought  me  here  f 

"  Providence,"  was  the  answer  which  the  soul  gave.  "  Not 
for  your  own  welfare,  perhaps,  but  for  the  welfare  of  your 
children,  the  unerring  hand  of  the  great  Father  has  led  you 


\ 


i 


A  JOURNEY  TO  THE  WOODS. 


15 


here.  You  form  a  connecting  link  in  the  destinies  of  many 
It  is  impossible  for  any  human  creature  to  live  for  himself 
alone.  It  may  be  your  lot  to  suffer,  but  others  will  reap  a 
benefit  from  your  trials.  Look  up  with  confidence  to  Heaven, 
and  the  sun  of  hope  will  yet  shed  a  cheering  beam  thi'ougb 
the  forbidden  depths  of  this  tangled  wilderness." 

The  road  became  so  bad  that  Mr.  D was  obliged  to 

dismount,  and  lead  his  horses  through  the  more  intricate  pas 
&ages.  The  animals  themselves,  weary  with  their  long  jour- 
ney and  heavy  load,  proceeded  at  foot-fall.  The  moon,  too, 
had  deserted  us,  and  the  only  light  wo  had  to  guide  us  through 
the  dim  arches  of  the  forest  was  from  the  snow  and  the  stars, 
which  now  peered  down  upon  us  through  the  leafless  branches 
of  the  trees,  with  uncommon  brilliancy. 

"  It  will  be  past  midnight  before  we  reach  your  brother's 
clearing,"   (where   we   expected   to   spend   the   night,)  said 

D .     "  I  wish,  Mr.  Moodie,  we  had  followed  your  advice, 

and  staid  at  Peterborough.  How  fares  it  with  you,  Mrs. 
Moodie,  and  the  young  ones  ?     It  is  growing  very  cold." 

We  were  now  in  the  heart  of  a  dark  cedar  swamp,  and  my 
mind  was  haunted  with  visions  of  wolves  and  bears ;  but  be- 
yond the  long,  wild  howl  of  a  solitary  wolf,  no  other  sound 
awoke  the  sepulchral  silence  of  that  dismal  looking  wood. 

"  What  a  gloomy  spot,"  said  I  to  my  husband.  "  In  the 
old  country,  superstition  would  people  it  with  ghosts." 

"  Ghosts !     There  are  no  ghosts  in  Canada !"  said  Mr. 

D .     "  The  country  is  too  new  for  ghosts.     No  Canadian 

is  afeard  of  ghosts.  It  is  only  in  old  countries,  like  your'n, 
that  are  full  of  sin  and  wickedness,  that  people  believe  in  such 
nonsense.  No  human  habitation  has  ever  been  erected  in  this 
wood  through  which  you  are  passing.  Until  a  very  few  years 
ago,  few  vrhite  persons  had  ever  passed  through  it ;  and  the 
Red  Man  would  not  pitch  his  tent  in  such  a  place  as  this 


!!: 


A, 


!| 


16 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


:        fj 


1  M 

, 

Now,  ghost'-,  as  I  understand  the  word,  are  the  spirits  of  bad 
men,  that  are  not  allowed  by  Providence  to  rest  in  their 
graves,  but,  for  a  punishment,  are  made  to  haunt  the  spots 
where  their  worst  deeds  were  committed.  I  don't  believe  in 
all  this ;  but,  supposing  it  to  be  true,  bad  men  must  have 
died  here  before  their  spirits  could  haunt  the  place.  Now,  it 
is  more  than  probable  that  no  person  ever  ended  his  days  in 
this  forest,  so  th^t  it  would  be  folly  to  think  of  seeing  his 
ghost." 

This  theory  of  Mr.  D 's  had  the  merit  of  originality, 

and  it  is  not  improbable  that  the  utter  disbelief  in  sujgernatu- 
ral  appf^arances,  which  is  common  to  most  native-born  Cana- 
dians, is  the  result  of  tlie  same  very  reasonable  mode  of 
arguing.  The  unpeopled  wastes  of  Canada  must  present  the 
same  aspect  to  the  new  settler  that  the  world  did  to  our  first 
parents  after  their  expulsion  from  the  garden  of  Eden  ;  all  the 
sin  which  could  defile  the  spot,  or  haunt  it  with  the  association 
of  departed  evil,  is  concentrated  in  their  own  persons.  Bad 
spirits  cannot  be  supposed  to  linger  near  a  place  where  crime 
has  never  been  committed.  The  belief  in  ghosts,  so  prevalent 
in  old  countries,  must  first  have  had  its  foundation  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  guilt. 

After  clearing  this  low,  swampy  portion  of  tfte  wood,  with 
much  difficulty,  and  the  frequent  application  of  the  axe,  to  cut 
away  the  fallen  timber  that  impeded  our  pre  gress,  our  ears 
were  assailed  by  a  low,  roaring,  pushing  soand,  as  of  the 
falling  of  waters. 

"  That  is  Herriot's  Falls,"  said  our  guide.  "  We  are 
within  two  miles  of  our  destination." 

Oh,  welcome  sound  !  But  those  two  miles  appeared  more 
lengthy  than  the  whole  journey.  Th'ok  clouds,  that  threatened 
a  snow-storm,  had  blotted  out  the  stars,  and  we  continued  to 
grope  our  way  through  a  narrow,  rocky  path,  upon  the  edge 


I 


A  JOURNEY  TO  THE   WOODS. 


11 


of  the  river,  in  almost  total  darkness.  1  now  felt  the  chillness 
of  the  midnight  hour,  and  the  fatigue  of  the  long  joui  ney,  with 
double  force,  and  envied  the  servant  and  children,  who  had 
been  sleeping  ever  since  we  left  Peterborough.  We  now 
descended  the  steep  bank,  and  prepared  to  cross  the  rapids. 

Dark  as  it  was,  I  looked  with  a  feeling  of  dread  upon  the 
foaming  waters  as  they  tumbled  over  their  bed  of  rocks,  their 
white  crests  flashing,  life-like,  amid  the  darkness  of  the  night. 

"  This  is  an  ugly  bridge  over  such  a  dangerous  place,"  said 

D ,  as  he  stood  up  m  the  sleigh  and  urged  his  tired  team 

across  the  miserable,  insecure  log-bridge,  where  darkness  and 
death  raged  below,  and  one  false  step  of  his  jaded  horses 
would  have  plunged  us  into  both.     I  must  confess  1  drew  a 

freer  breath  when  the  bridge  was  crossed,  and  D congrat. 

ulated  us  on  our  safe  arrival  in  Douro. 

We  now  continued  our  journey  along  the  left  bank  of  the 
river,  but  when  in  sight  of  Mr.  S 's  clearing,  a  large  pine- 
tree,  which  had  newly  fallen  across  the  narrow  path,  brought 
the  teams  to  a  stand-still.  The  mighty  trunk  which  had  lately 
formed  one  of  the  stately  pillars  in  the  sylvan  temple  of  Na- 
ture, was  of  too  large  dimensions  to  chop  in  two  with  axes ; 
and  after  half-an-hour's  labour,  which  to  me,  poor,  cold,  weary 
wight !  seemed  an  age,  the  males  of  the  party  abandoned 
the  task  in  despair.  To  go  round  it  was  impossible  ;  its  roots 
were  concealed  in  an  impenetrable  wall  of  cedar-jungle  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  thb  road,  and  its  huge  branches  hung  over 
the  precipitous  bank  of  the  rivei. 

We  must  try  and  make  the  horses  jump  over  it,"  said 

D .     "  We  may  get  an  upset,  but  there  is  no  help  for  it ; 

we  must  either  make  the  experiment,  or  stay  here  all  night, 
and  I  am  too  cold  and  hungry  for  that — so  here  goes."  He 
urged  his  horses  to  leap  the  log ;  restraining  their  ardour  for  a 
moment  as  the  sleigh  rested  on  the  top  of  the  formidable 


rl 


* 


i 


-f"' 
^ 


^  ROUOIIING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH 

barrier,  but  so  nicely  balanced,  that  the  difference  of  a  straw 
would  almost  have  overturned  t'.io  heavily-laden  vehicle  and 
its  hel[>less  inmates.  We,  however,  cleared  it  in  safety.  He 
now  stopped,  and  gave  directions  to  his  brother  to  follow  the 
same  plan  that  he  had  adopted ;  but  whether  the  young  man 
had  less  coolness,  or  the  horses»  m  his  team  were  more  diffi- 
cult to  manage,  I  cannot  tell ;  the  sleigh,  as  it  hung  poised 
upon  the  top  of  the  log,  was  overturned  with  a  loud  crash, 
and  all  my  household  goods  and  chattels  were  scattered  over 
the  road.  Alas,  for  my  crockery  and  stone  china!  scarcely 
one  article  remained  unbroken. 

"  Never  fret  about  the  china,"  said  Moodie ;  "  thank  God, 
the  num  and  the  horses  are  uninjured." 

I  should  have  felt  more  thankful  had  che  crocks  been 
spared  too ;  for,  like  most  of  my  sex,  1  had  a  tender  regard 
for  china,  and  I  knew  that  no  fresh  supply  cotild  be  obtained 
in  this  part  of  the  world.     Leaving  his  brother  to  collect  the 

scattered  fragments,  D proceeded  on  his  journey.     We 

left  the  road,  and  were  winding  our  "way  over  a  steep  hill, 
covered  with  heaps  of  brush  and  fallen  timber,  and  as  we 
reached  the  top,  a  light  gleamed  cheerily  from  the  windows 
of  a  log  house,  and  the  next  moment  we  were  at  my  brother's 
door. 

I  thought  my  journey  was  at  an  end;  but  here  1  was 
doomed  to  fresh  disappomtment.  His  wife  was  nbsent  on  a 
visit  to  her  friends,  and  it  had  been  arranged  that  we  were  to 

to  stay  with  my  sister,  Mrs.  T ,  and  her  husband.     With 

all  this  I  was  unacquainted ;  and  I  was  about  to  quit  the  sleigh 
and  seek  the  warmth  of  the  fire  when  I  was  told  that  1  had 
yet  further  to  go.  Its  cheerful  glow  was  to  ahed  no  warmth 
on  me,  and,  tired  as  I  was,  I  actually  buried  my  face  and  wept 
upon  the  neck  of  a  hound  which  Moodie  had  given  to  Mr. 
S f  and  which  sprang  up  upon  the  sleigh  to  lick  my  face 


A  JOURNEY   TO    THE   WOODS. 


19 


a  straw 
icle  and 
>y.     He 
How  the 
ing  man 
:)re  diffi- 
T  poised 
.d  crash, 
red  over 
scarcely 

ink  God, 

jks  been 
jr  regard 

obtained 
ollect  the 
ey.  We 
;teep  lull, 
nd  as  we 
!  windows 

brother's 


and  hands.  This  was  my  first  halt  in  that  weary  wilderness, 
where  I  endured  so  many  l)itter  years  of  toll  and  sorrow.  My 
brother-in-liiw  and  his  faniily  iiad  retired  to  rest,  Viiit  tiiey  in- 
stantly rose  to  receive  tiic  way-worn  travellers;  and  I  never 
enjoyed  more  heartily  a  warm  welcome  after  a  lon«5  day  of 
bitcjise  fatigue,  than  I  did  th»t.  niaht.  of  my  first  sojourn  in 
the  backwooci' 


yA<^^ 


U      AU/ 


/^i^^^AxXto  • 


cIj,    ."zU^^t^  / 


ere  1  was 
sent  on  a 
TQ  were  to 
id.  With 
the  sleigh 
that  1  had 
lo  warmth 
3  and  wept 
ren  to  Mr. 
3k  my  face 


u 


i! 


SI' 


I    ' 


i 


u 


20 


HO  UU I  UNO  IT  h\  TUK  HUSH. 


ill 


•' 


I 


♦'tl  Al  'J  Pjii     II, 


MBI    WILDERNESS,    AND    OUR     INDIAN    FRinitBf^. 

THE  dtnids  of  the  preceding  night,  instead  of  dissolving 
into  snow,  brought  on  a  rapid  thaw.  A  thaw  in  the 
middle  of  winter  is  the  most  disagreeable  change  that  win  be 
imagined.  After  several  weeks  of  clear,  bright,  bracing,  frosty 
weather,  with  a  serene  atmosphere  and  cloudless  sky,  y  (.)U  awake 
one  morning  surprised  at  tht  change  in  the  temperature ;  and, 
upon  looking  out  of  the  window,  behold  the  woods  obscured 
by  a  murky  haze — not  so  dense  as  an  English  November  fog, 
but  more  l)lack  and  lowering — and  the  heavens  shrouded  hi  a 
uniform  covering  of  leaden-coloured  clouds,  deepening  into  a 
livid  indigo  at  the  edge  of  the  horizon.  The  snow,  no  longer 
hard  and  glittering,  has  become  soft  and  spongy,  and  the  foot 
slips  into  a  wet  and  insidiously-yielding  mass  at  every  step. 
From  the  roof  pours  down  a  continuous  stream  of  water,  and 
the  branches  of  the  trees  collecting  the  moisture  of  the  reek- 
ing atmosphere,  shower  it  upon  the  earth  from  every  dripping 
twig.  The  cheerless  and  uncomfortable  aspect  of  things  with- 
out never  fails  to  produce  a  corresponding  effect  upon  the 
minds  of  those  within,  and  casts  such  a  damp  upon  the  spirits 
that  it  ai>poars  to  destroy  ibr  a  time  all  sense  of  enjoyment. 
Many  persons  (and  myself  among  the  number)  are  made 
aware  of  the  approach  of  a  thunder-storm  by  an  intense  pain 
and  weight  about  the  head  ;  and  T  have  heard  numbere  of 


rill':   \Vll.i>h'iiNI>.>    AND   OUR  INDIAN  t'lilKSDS.       X] 


f  dissolving 
haw  in   the 
that  ciiu  he 
achvg,  frosty 
jr, you  awake 
srature  •,  aiid, 
)ds  obscurod 
)vember  fo^, 
hroudcd  iii  a 
)ening  into  a 
w,  no  longer 
,  and  the  foot 
it  every  step, 
of  water,  and 
B  of  the  reek- 
ivery  dripping 
3f  things  with- 
feet  upon  the 
pon  the  spirits 
of  enjoyment. 
>er)  are  made 
in  intense  pain 
d  luimberB  of 


Camulians  ooinftlain  that  a  thaw  always  made  tlicin  feel  biliou»    \ y^ 
nnd  heavy,  and  greatly  depressed  their  animal  spirits. 

I  hud  a  gi'eat  desire  to  visit  our  now  location,  but  when  I 
loolted  out  upon  the  cheerless  waste,  I  gave  up  the  idea,  and 
contented  myself  with  hoping  for  a  better  day  on  the  morrow; 
but  many  morrows  came  and  went  before  a  frost  again  hard 
oned  the  road  sufnciently  for  me  to  make  tiu'  attempt. 

The  prospect  from  the  windows  of  my  sister's  leg  hut  was 
not  very  prepossessing.  The  small  lake  in  ffont,  which  formed 
such  a  pretty  object  in  summer,  now  looked  like  an  extensive 
Held  covered  with  snow,  hemmed  in  from  tlio  rest  of  the 
world  by  a  dark  belt  of  sombre  pine-woods.  The  clearing 
round  the  house  was  very  smtill,  and  only  just  reclaimed  iVom 
the  wilderness,  and  the  greater  part  of  it  covered  with  j>iles 
of  brushwood,  to  be  burned  the  first  dry  days  of  spring.  The 
charred  and  blackened  stnm[)s  on  the  few  acres  that  had  been 
cleared  during  the  preceding  year  were  every  thing  but  pic- 
turesque; and  I  concludiul,  as  I  turned,  disgusted,  from  the 
pnjspect  befon.'  me,  that  there  was  very  little  beauty  to  be 
found  in  the  backwoods.  But  I  came  to  this  decision  during 
a  Canadian  thaw,  be  it  remembered,  when  one  is  wont  to 
view  every  object  with  jaundiced  eyes. 

Moodie  had  only  been  .able  to  secure  sixty-six  acres  of  his 
government  grant  upon  the  Upper  Kutchawanook  Luke,  which, 
being  interpreted,  means  in  English,  tlie  "Lake  of  the  Water- 
falls," a  very  poetical  meaning,  which  mosl  Indian  names  have, 
lie  had,  however,  secured  a  clergy  reserve  of  two  hundred 
acres  adjoining  ;  and  he  afterwards  purchased  a  fine  lot,  which 
likewise  formed  a  part  of  the  same  block,  one  hundred  acres, 
for  £150.*    This  was  an  enormously  high  price  for  wild  land  •, 

•*■  After  n  lapse  of  fifteen  years,  wo  have  been  glad  to  sell  those  iota  of. 
land,  after  cc>n»iderable  cloarings  had  been  tuado  upon  them,  for  k:'..s  tlisj 
they  orijiriually  cost  UB. 


I' 

I 


I 


''Bi 


-  i : : 

I] 

Illl  1 


32 


ROUOHINO   IT  IN   THE  BUW. 


but  the  prospect  of  opening  the  Trent  and  Otouabee  for  tbe 
na\ngation  of  steamboats  and  other  small  craft,  -svas  at  itiat 
period  a  favourite  speculation,  and  its  practicability,  and  tne 
great  advantages  to  be  derived  from  it,  were  so  widely  be. 
lieved,  as  to  raise  the  value  of  the  wild  lands  along  these  re- 
mote waters  to  an  enormous  price;  and  settlers  in  the  vi- 
cinity were  eager  to  secure  lots,  at  any  sacrifice,  along  their 
shores. 

Our  government  grant  was  upon  the  lake  shore,  and  Moo- 
die  had  chosen  for  the  site  of  his  log  house  a  bank  that  slope/ 
gradually  from  the  edge  of  the  water,  until  it  attained  to  the 
dignity  of  a  hill.  Along  the  top  of  this  ridge,  the  forest-road 
ran,  and  midway  down  the  hill,  our  humble  home,  already 
nearly  conipletea,  stood,  surrounded  by  the  eternal  forest.  A 
few  trees  had  been  cleared  in  its  immediate  vicinity,  just  suffi- 
cient  to  allow  the  workmen  to  proceed,  and  to  prevent  the 
fall  of  any  tree  injuring  the  building,  or  the  danger  of  its 
taking  fire  during  the  process  of  burning  the  flillow. 

A  neighbour  had  undertaken  to  build  this  rude  dwelliriii 
by  contract,  and  was  to  have  it  ready  for  us  by  the  first  week 
ai  the  new  year.  The  want  of  boards  to  make  the  divisions 
m  the  apartments  alone  hindered  him  from  fulfilling  his  con- 
tract. These  had  lately  been  procured,  and  the  house  was  to 
be  ready  for  our  reception  in  the  course  of  a  week.     Our 

trunks  and  baggage  had  already  been  conveyed  by  Mr.  D 

hither ;  and  in  spite  of  my  sister's  kindness  and  hospitality,  I 
longed  to  find  myself  once  more  settled  in  a  home  of  my  own. 

The  day  after  our  arrival,  I  was  agreeably  surprised  by  a 
visit  from  Monaghan,  whom  Moodie  had  once  more  taken  into 
his  service.  Thp.  poor  fellow  was  delighted  that  his  nurse- 
child,  as  he  always  called  little  Katie,  had  not  forgotten  him, 
but  evinced  the  most  lively  satisfaction  at  the  sight  of  her 
dark  friend. 


^^ 


THE   WILDHRNESS,  AM>  OUR  1ND^A.N  FRIENDS.       23 


Early  every  morning,  Moodie  went  off  to  the  house ;  and 
the  first  fine  day,  my  sister  undertook  to  escort  me  through 
the  wood,  to  inspect  it.  The  proposal  was  joyfiilly  accepted ; 
and  although  I  felt  rather  timid  when  I  found  myself  with  only 
my  female  companion  in  the  vast  forest,  I  kept  my  fears  to 
myself,  lest  I  should  be  laughed  at.  This  foolish  dread  of  en- 
countering wild  beasts  in  the  woods,  I  never  could  wholly 
shake  olF,  even  after  becoming  a  constant  resident  in  their 
gloomy  depths,  and  accustomed  to  follow  the  forest-path, 
alone,  or  attended  with  little  children,  daily.  The  cracking  of 
an  old  bough,  or  the  hooting  of  the  owl,  was  enough  to  fill  me 
with  alarm,  and  try  my  strength  in  a  precipitate  flight.  Often 
have  I  stopped  and  reproached  myself  for  want  of  faith  in  the 
goodness  of  Providence,  and  repeated  the  text,  "  The  wicked 
are  afraid  when  no  man  pursueth :  but  the  righteous  are  as 
bold  as  a  lion,"  as  if  to  shame  myself  into  courage.  But  it 
would  not  do ;  I  could  not  overcome  the  weakness  of  the 
flesh.  If  1  had  one  of  my  infimts  wit)i  me,  the  wish  to  pro- 
tect  the  child  from  any  danger  which  might  beset  my  path 
gave  me  for  a  time  a  fictitious  courage  ;  but  it  was  like  love 
fighting  with  despair. 

It  was  in  vain  that  my  husband  assured  me  that  no  person 
had  ever  been  attacked  by  wild  animals  in  the  woods,  that  a 
child  might  traverse  them  even  at  night  in  safety  ;  wliilst 
I  knew  that  \vild  animals  existed  in  those  woods,  I  could  not 
believe  him,  and  my  fears  on  this  head  rather  increased  than 
diminished. 

The  snow  had  been  so  greatly  decreased  by  the  late 
thaw,  that  it  had  been  converted  into  a  coating  of  ice,  which 
afforded  a  dangerous  and  slippery  footing.  My  sister,  who 
had  resided  for  nearly  twelve  months  in  the  woods,  was  pro- 
vided for  her  walk  with  Iiid'ian  'inoccasins,  which  rendered 
her  quite  independent ;  but  I  stumbled  at  every  step.     The 


I 


i 

,-J     ■" 

1     ■  ■      ! 

i 

.'t 

'.   *  ■.    » 

:  I 


iiMJiM 


iijiH! 


24 


ROUGHING  IT  LV  the  UUSII. 


sun  shone  brightly,  the  air  was  dear  and  invigorating,  and,  in 
spite  of  the  treacherous  ground  and  my  foolish  fears,  I  greatlj 
enjoyed  my  first  walk  in  the  woods.  Naturally  of  a  cheer- 
ful, hopeful  disposition,  my  sister  was  enthusiastic  in  her  ad- 
miration of  the  woods.  She  drew  such  a  lively  picture  of  the 
charms  of  a  summer  residence  in  the  forest  that  I  began  to 
feel  greatly  interested  in  her  descriptions,  and  to  rejoice  that 
we  too  were  to  be  her  near  neighbours  and  dwellers  in  the 
woods ;  and  this  circumstance  not  a  little  reconciled  me  to 
the  change. 

Hoping  that  my  husband  would  derive  an  income  equal  to 
the  one  he  had  parted  with  from  the  investment  of  the  price 
of  his  commission  in  the  steamboat  stock,  I  felt  no  dread  of 
want.  Our  legacy  of  £700  had  afforded  us  means  to  purchase 
land,  build  our  house,  and  give  out  a  large  portion  of  land  to 
be  cleared,  and,  with  a  considerable  sum  of  money  still  in 
hand,  our  prospects  for  the  future  were  in  no  way  discour- 
aging. 

When  we  reached  the  top  of  the  ridge  chat  overlooked  oir 
cot,  my  sister  stopped,  and  pointed  out  a   large   dwelling 

among  the  trees.     "  There,  S ,"  she  said,  "  is  your  home. 

When  that  black  cedar  swamp  is  cleared  away,  that  now 
hides  the  lake  from  us,  you  will  have  a  very  pretty  view." 
My  conversation  with  her  had  quite  altered  the  aspect  of  the 
country,  and  predisposed  me  to  view  things  in  the  most  favour- 
able light.  I  found  Moodie  and  Monaghan  employed  in 
piling  up  heaps  of  bush  near  the  house,  which  they  intended 
to  burn  off  by  hand  previous  to  firing  the  rest  of  the  fallow, 
to  prevent  any  risk  to  the  building  from  fire.  The  house 
was  made  of  cedar  logs,  and  presented  a  superior  air  of  com- 
fort to  most  dwellings  of  the  same  kind.  The  dimensions 
were  thirty-six  feet  in  length,  and  thirty-two  in  breadth,  which 
gave  us  a  nice  parlour,  a  kitchen,  and  two  small  bedrooms, 


THE   WILDERNESS,  AND  OUR  INDIAN  FRIENDS.        25 


which  were  divided  by  plank  partitions.  Pantry  or  storeroom 
there  was  none ;  some  rough  shelves  in  the  kitchen,  and  a 
deal  cupboard  In  a  corner  of  the  parlour,  being  the  extent  of 
our  accommodations  in  that  way. 

Our  servant,  Mary  Tate,  was  busy  scrubbing  out  the  par- 
lour and  bedroom ;  but  the  kitchen,  and  the  sleeping-room 
off  it,  were  still  knee-deep  in  chips,  and  filled  with  the  carpen- 
ter's bench  and  tools,  and  all  our  luggage.  Such  as  it  was,  it 
was  a  palace  when  compared  to  Old  Satan's  log  hut,  or  the 
miserable  cabin  we  had  wintered  in  during  the  severe  winter 
of  1833,  and  I  regarded  it  with  complacency  as  my  future 
home. 

While  we  were  standing  outside  the  building,  conversing 
with  my  husband,  a  young  gentleman,  of  the  name  of  Morgan, 
who  had  lately  purchased  land  in  that  vicinity,  weni  into  the 
kitchen  to  light  his  pipe  at  the  stove,  and,  'vith  true  backwood 
ai'olcssness,  let  the  hot  cinder  fall  among  the  dry  chips  that 
strewed  the  floor.  A  few  minutes  after,  the  whole  mass  was 
in  a  blaze,  and  it  was  not  without  great  difficulty  that  Moodie 

and  Mr.  R succeeded  in  pulling  out  the  fire.     Thus  were 

we  nearly  deprived  of  our  home  before  we  had  taken  up  our 
abode  in  it. 

The  indifference  to  the  danger  of  fire  in  a  country  where 
most  of  the  dwellings  are  composed  of  inflammable  materials, 
18  truly  astonishing.  Accustomed  to  see  enormous  fires  bla- 
zing on  every  hearth-stone,  and  to  sleep  in  front  of  these  fires, 
his  bedding  often  riddled  with  holes  made  by  hot  particles  of 
wood  flying  out  during  the  night,  and  igniting  beneath  his 
very  nose,  the  sturdy  backwoodsman  never  dreads  an  enemy 
in  the  element  that  he  is  used  to  regard  as  his  best  friend. 
Yet  what  awful  accidents,  what  ruinous  calamities  arise,  out 
of  this  criminal  negligence,  both  to  himself  and  others! 

A  few  days  after  this  adventure,  we  bade  adieu  to  mv  si* 

VOL.  11.  3 


ii) 


u. 


26 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  Ub\iH. 


^ 


■^■. 


ter,  and  took  possession  of  our  new  dwelling  and  (^on'menccd 
''  a  life  in  the  woods." 

The  first  spring  we  spent  in  comparative  ease  and  idleness. 
Our  cows  had  been  left  upon  our  old  place  during  the  winter. 
The  ground  had  to  be  cleared  before  it  could  recei\e  a  crop 
]  of  any  kind,  and  I  had  little  to  do  but  to  wandtir  by  the 
lake  shore,  or  among  the  woods,  and  amuse  myself  These 
were  the  halcyon  days  of  the  bush.  My  husband  had  pur- 
chased a  very  light  cedar  canoe,  to  which  he  attached  a  keel 
ind  a  sail ;  and  most  of  our  leisure  hours,  directly  the  snows 
melted,  were  spent  upon  the  water. 

These  fishing  and  shooting  excursions  were  delightful.  The 
pure  beauty  of  the  Canadian  water,  the  sombre  but  august 
grandeur  of  the  vast  forest  that  hemmed  us  in  on  every  side 
ind  shut  us  out  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  soon  cast  a  magic 
npell  upon  our  spirits,  and  we  began  to  feel  •charmed  with  the 
freedom  and  solitude  around  us.  Every  object  was  new  to 
us.  We  felt  as  if  we  were  the  first  discoverers  of  every 
beautiful  flower  and  stately  tree  that  attracted  our  attention, 
and  we  gave  names  to  fantastic  rocks  and  fairy  isles,  and 
raised  imaginary  houses  and  bridges  on  every  picturesque 
spot  which  we  floated  past  during  our  aquatic  excursions.  I 
learned  the  use  of  the  paddle,  and  became  quite  a  proficient 
in  the  gentle  craft. 

It  was  not  long  before  we  received  visits  from  the  Indians, 
a  people  whose  beauty,  talents,  and  good  qualities  have  been 
somewhat  overrated,  and  invested  with  a  poetical  interest 
which  they  scarcely  deserve.  Their  honesty  and  love  of 
truth  are  the  finest  traits  in  characters  otherwise  dark  and  un- 
lovely. But  these  are  two  God-like  attributes,  and  fiom  them 
spring  all  that  is  generous  and  ennobling  about  them, 

Tlicrc  never  was  a  people  more  sensible  of  kindness,  or 
more  grateful  for  any  little  act  of  benevolence  exercised  to 


■fiAn^yuj  .   Ali^/yiU^  9    /^^e<v 


y/Z^"    WILDERNt'iSS,  AND   OUR  INDIAN  FRIENL  K.       27 

wards  them.     We  met  them  witli  confidence;  our  dealhigaj 
with  them  were  conducted  with  the  strictest  int(;grity ;  and! 
nJN  they  became  attached  to  our  persons,  and   in  no  single  in- 
1  stance  ever  destroyed  the  good  opinion  we  entertuined  of 
j^  them. 

The  iribesthat  occupy  the  shores  of  all  these  inland  waters, 

back  of  tlie  great  lakes,  belong  to  the  Chippewa  or  Missasagua 

Indians,  [perhaps  the  least  attractive  of  all  these  wild  people, 

oth  with  regard  to  their  physical  and  mental  endowi.  onts. 

The  men  of  this  tribe  are  generally  small  of  stature,  with  very 

coarse  and  repulsive  features.     The  forehead  is  low  and  re- 

J  J  treating,  the  observing  faculties  large,  the  intellectual  ones 

^^scarcely  developed ;  the  ears  large,  and  standing  off  from  the 

^   ^  face ;  the  eyes  looking  towards  the  temples,  keen,  snake-like, 

,nd  far  apart ;  the  cheek-bones  prominent ;  the  nose  long  and 

flat,  the  nostrils  very  round  ;  the  jaw-bone  projecting,  massy, 

and  brutal ;  the  mouth  expressing  ferocity  and  sullen  deter- 

mination ;  the  teeth  large,  even,  and  dazzilngly  white.     The 

mouth  of  the  female  diiTers  widely  in  expression  from  that  of 

the  male  ;  the  lips  are  fuller,  the  jaw  less  projecting,  and  the 

smile  is  simple  and  agreeable.     The  women  are  a  merry, 

light-hearted  set,  and  their  constant  laugh  and  incessant  prattle 

form  a  strange  contrast  to  the  iron  taciturnity  of  their  grim 

lords. 

Now  I  am  upon  the  subject,  I  will  recapitulate  a  few  traits 
and  sketches  of  these  people,  as  they  came  under  my  own  im- 
mediate observation. 

A  dry  cedar  swamp,  not  far  from  the  house,  by  the  lake 
shore,  had  been  their  usual  place  of  encampment  for  many 
years.  The  whole  block  of  land  was  almost  entirely  covered 
with  maf'le-trccs,  and  had  originally  been  an  Indian  sugar- 
bush.  Although  the  flivourite  spot  had  now  passed  into  the 
hands  of  strangers,  they  still  frequented  the  place,  to  niake 


? 


I 


W 


^^li 


*28 


ROUaUIKd   IT  L\  TIIK  BCSII 


canoes  and  baskets,  to  fish  and  shoot,  and  occasionally  to  fol. 
low  their  old  occupation.  Scarcely  a  week  passed  away  with- 
out my  being  visited  by  the  dark  strangers  ;  and  as  my  hvis- 
band  never  allowed  them  to  eat  with  the  servants,  but  brought 
them  to  his  own  table,  they  soon  grew  friendly  and  communi- 
cative, and  would  point  to  every  object  that  attracted  their 
attention,  asking  a  thousand  questions  as  to  its  use,  the  mate- 
rial of  which  it  was  made,  and  if  we  were  inclined  to  exchange 
it  for  their  commodities  1  With  a  large  map  of  Canada,  they 
were  infinitely  delighted.  In  a  moment  they  recognized  every 
bay  and  headland  in  Ontario,  and  almost  screamed  with  delight 
when,  following  the  course  of  the  Trent  with  their  fingers,  they 
came  to  their  own  lake. 

How  eagerly  each  pointed  out  the  spot  to  his  fellows; 
how  intently  their  black  heads  were  bent  down,  and  their 
dark  eyes  fixed  upon  the  map !  What  strange,  uncouth  excla- 
mations of  surprise  burst  from  their  lips  as  they  rapidly 
repeated  the  Indian  names  for  every  lake  and  river  on  this 
wondorful  piece  of  paper  ! 

The  old  chief,  Peter  Nogan,  begged  hard  for  the  coveted 
treasure.  He  would  give  "  Canoe,  venison,  duck,  fish,  for  it ; 
and  more,  by  and  by." 

I  felt  sorry  that  I  was  unable  to  gratify  his  wishes ;  but 
the  map  had  cost  upwards  of  six  dollars,  and  was  daily  con- 
sulted by  my  husband,  in  reference  to  the  names  and  situa- 
tions of  localities  in  the  neighbourhood. 

I  had  in  my  possession  a  curious  Japanese  sword,  which 
had  been  given  to  me  by  an  uncle  of  Tom  Wilson's — a  strange 
gifl  to  a  young  lady ;  but  it  was  on  account  of  its  curiosity, 
and  had  no  reference  to  my  warlike  propensities.  This  sword 
was  broad,  and  three-sided  in  the  blade,  and  in  shape  resem- 
bled a  moving  snake.  Tlie  hilt  was  formed  of  a  hideous 
carved  image  of  one  of  their  war-gods ;  and  a  more  villainous. 


THE   WILDERNESS,  AND  OUR  INDIAN  FRIENDS.       2«J 


luvkiiig  wretch  was  never  conceived  by  the  most  distorted 
imagination.  He  was  represented  in  a  sitting  attitude,  the 
eagle's  claws,  that  formed  his  hands,  resting  upon  his  knees ; 
his  legs  terminated  in  lion's  paws ;  and  his  face  was  a  strange 
compound  of  beast  and  biid — the  upper  part  of  his  persoa 
being  covered  with  feathers,  the  lower  with  long,  shaggy  hair. 
The  case  of  this  awful  weapon  was  made  of  wood,  and,  in 
spite  of  its  serpentine  form,  fitted  it  exactly.  No  trace  of  a 
join  could  be  found  in  this  scabbard,  which  was  of  hard  wood, 
and  highly  polished. 

One  of  my  Indian  friends  found  this  sword  lying  upon  the 
book-slielf,  and  he  hurried  to  communicate  the  important  dis. 
covcry  to  his  companions.  Mcodie  was  absent,  and  they 
brought  it  to  me  to  demand  an  explanation  of  the  figvire  that 
formed  the  hilt.  1  told  them  that  it  was  a  weapon  that  be- 
longed to  a  very  fierce  people  who  lived  in  the  East,  far  over 
the  Great  Salt  Lake ;  that  they  were  not  Christians,  as  we 
were,  but  said  their  prayers  to  images  made  of  silver,  and 
gold,  and  ivory,  and  wood,  and  that  this  was  one  of  them ; 
that  before  they  went  into  battle  they  said  their  prayers  to 
that  hideous  Lhing,  which  they  had  made  with  their  own 
hands.  The  hidians  were  highly  amused  by  this  relation,  and 
passed  the  sword  from  one  to  the  other,  exclaiming,  "  A  god ! 
— Owgh  !— A  god  !" 

But,  in  spite  of  these  outward  demonstrations  of  contempt, 
I  was  sorry  to  perceive  that  this  circumstance  gave  the  weapon 
a  great  value  in  their  eyes,  and  they  regarded  it  with  a  sort 
of  mysterious  awe. 

For  several  days  they  continued  to  visit  the  house,  bring- 
ing along  with  them  some  fresh  companion  to  look  at  Mrs. 
Hoodie's  god! — until,  vexed  and  annoyed  by  the  delight  they 
manifested  at  the  sight  of  the  eagle-beaked  monster,  I  refused 
to  gratify  their  curiosity,  by  not  producing  him  again. 


30 


HOUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH 


n 


i5 


1 


The  nianiifiieturo  of  the  shealh,  which  had  caused  ni«  much 
perplexity,  was  explained  by  old  Peter  in  a  minute.  "  'Tis, 
burnt  out,"  he  said.  "  histrument  made  like  sword — heat 
red-hot — burnt  through — polished  outside." 

Had  I  demanded  a  whole  fleet  of  canoes  for  my  Japanese 
sword,  I  am  certain  they  would  have  agreed  to  the  bargain. 
The  Indian  possesses  great  taste,  which  is  displayed  in  the 
carving  of  his  paddles,  in  the  shape  of  his  canoes,  in  the  ele- 
gancc  and  symmetry  of  his  bows,  in  the  cut  of  his  leggings 
and  moccasins,  the  sheath  of  his  hunting-knife,  and  in  all  the 
little  ornaments  in  which  he  delights.  It  is  almost  impossible 
for  a  settler  to  imitate  to  perfection  an  Indian's  cherry-wood 
paddle.  My  husband  made  very  creditable  attempts,  but 
still  there  was  something  wanting — the  elegance  of  the  Indian 
finish  was  .ot  there.  If  you  show  them  a  good  print,  they 
invariably  point  out  the  most  natural  and  the  best-executed 
*C!  figure  in  the  gioup.     They  are  particularly  delighted  with 

CT"^  pictures,  examine  them  long  and  carefully,  and  seem  to  feel 
an  artist-like  pleasure  in  observing  the  effect  produced  by 
light  and  shade. 

I  had  been  showing  John  Nogan,  the  eldest  son  of  old  Peter, 
some  beautiful  coloured  engravings  of  celebrated  females ; 
and  to  my  astonishment  he  pounced  upon  the  best,  and 
grunted  out  his  admiration  in  the  mos't  approved  Indian 
fashion.  After  having  looked  for  a  long  time  at  a.11  the 
pictures  very  attentively,  he  took  his  dog  Sancho  upon  his 
knee,  and  showed  him  the  pictures,  with  as  much  gravity  as 
if  the  animal  really  could  have  shared  in  his  pleasure.  The 
vanity  of  these  grave  men  is  highly  amusing.  They  seem 
perfectly  unconscious  of  it  themselves ;  and  it  is  exhii^ited  in 
the  most  childlike  manner. 

Peter  and  his  son  John  vrere  taking  tea  with  us,  when  we 
were  joinod   liv    my   brnthor.    Mr.   S—  -.     The   hill  or  wa*i 


m 


THE  W/LDEIiXESS,  ANL    OUIi  IXDIAS  FRIEXns. 


31 


giving  us  an  account  of  the  niarriago  of  Peter  Jones,  tlie  cele- 
brated Indian  preai  her. 

"  I  cannot  think,"  he  said,  "  how  any  lady  of  property  and 
education  could  marry  such  a  man  as  Jones.  Why,  he's  as 
ugly  as  Peter  here." 

This  was  said,  not  with  anv  idea  of  insultinff  the  red-skin  on 
the  score  of  his  beauty,  of  which  he  possessed  not  the  smallest 
particle,  but  in  total  forgetfulness  that  our  guest  understood 
English.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  red  flash  of  that  fierce,  dark 
eye  as  it  glared  upon  my  unconscious  brother.  I  would  not 
have  received  such  a  fiory  glance  for  all  the  wealth  that  Peter 
Jones  oljtainod  with  his  Saxon  bride.  John  Nogan  was  highly 
amused  by  his  father's  indignation.  He  hid  his  face  behind 
the  chief;  and  though  he  kept  perfectly  still,  his  whole  frame 
was  convulsed  with  suj»pressed  laughter. 

A  plainer  human  being  than  poor  Peter  could  scarcely  be 

"^    imagined  ;  yet  he  certainly  deemed  himself  handsome.     I  am 

'^'    inclined  to  tliink  that  their  ideas  of  personal  beauty  differ  verv 

'^    widely  from  oura-     Tom  Nogan,  the  chief's  brother,  had  a 

very  largo,  fat,  ugly  sijiuiw  for  his  wife.     She  was  a  mountain 

of  tai^vny  flesh;  and,  but  for  the  innocent,  good-natured  expres- 

sion/which,  like  a  bright  sunbeam  penetrating  a  swarthy  cloud, 

spread  all  around  a  kindly  glow,  she  might  have  been  termed 

hidfeous. 

I  This  woman  they  considered  very  handsome,  calling  her 
"  4.fi»e  squaw — clever  sc|uaw—:aLJa.u.ch.g0.od  woman  ;"  though 
In  what  her  superiority  consisted,  I  never  could  discover,  often 
as,  I  visited  the  wigwam.  She  was  very  dirty,  and  appeared 
qqite  indifferent  to  the  claims  of  common  decency  (in  the  dis- 
posal of  the  few  filthy  rags  that  covered  her).  She  was,  how- 
evjpr.  verv  expert  in  all  Indian  craft.  No  Jew  could  drive  a 
better  bargain  than  Mrs.  Tom  ;  and  her  urchins,  of  whom  she 
W3S  the  happy  mother  of  five  or  six,  were  as  cunning  and 


i 


V' 

'■: 


ii)i, 


JiuLGIlLW  IT  IN  THE  liUSlL 


;^ 


avnrii'ioiis  as  hcrsflt*.  One  day  she  visited  me,  bringlnjf  along 
wllh  lnT  a  very  jn'ctty  covei'cd  basket  for  sale.  I  asked  her 
what  she  wanted  for  it,  but  could  obtain  fi'om  her  :;o  satisfac- 
tory answer.  I  showed  her  a  small  j)iece  of  silver.  She  shook 
her  head.  I  tempted  her  with  pork  and  flour,  but  she  required 
neilher.  I  liad  just  given  up  the  idea  of  dealing  with  her,  in 
despaii",  when  she  suddenly  seized  upon  me,  and,  lifting  np 
my  gown,  pointed  exultingly  to  my  quilted  petticoat,  clapping 
her  hands,  and  laughing  immoderately. 

Another  time  she  led  me  all  over  the  house,  to  sliow  mo 
what  she  wanted  in  exchange  for  ha.skct.  My  patience  was 
well  nigh  exhausted  in  following  her  from  i)]aee  to  place,  in 
her  attempt  to  discover  the  coveted  article,  when,  hanging 
upon  a  peg  in  my  chamber,  she  espied  a  pair  o^  trowsers  be- 
longing to  my  husband's  logging-suit.  The  riddle  was  solved. 
With  a  joyful  cry  she  pointed  to  them,  exclaiming  "Take 
basket. — Give  them  !"  It  was  with  no  small  difliculty  that  I 
r<;seued  the  indispensables  from  her  grasp. 

From  this  woman  I  leanied  a  story  of  Indian  coolness  and 
^ourage  which  made  a  deep  impression  on  my  mind.  One  of 
their  squaws,  a  near  relation  of  her  own,  had  accompanied 
her  husband  on  a  hunting  expedition  i^ito  the  forest.  ITe  had 
been  verv  succcssfid,  and  having  killed  more  deer  than  the,- 
oould  well  carry  home,  he  went  to  the  house  of  a  white  man 
to  dispose  of  some  of  it,  leaving  the  squaw  j  take  care  of  the 
rest  until  his  return.  She  sat  carelessly  upon  the  log  with  his 
aunting-knife  in  her  hand,  when  she  heard  the  breaking  of 
)ranch(!s  near  her,  and,  turning  round,  beheld  a  great  bear 
only  a  few  paces  from  her. 

it  was  too  late  to  retreat ;  and  seeing  that  the  animal  was 
very  hungry,  and  determined  to  come  to  close  quarters,  she 
rose,  and  placed  her  back  against  a  small  tree,  holding  hei 
knife  close  to  her  breast,  and  in  a  straight  line  with  the  bear 


THK   ]VJfJ>K/iNKSS,  AST    OUli  /X/f/AiV  y/i/KXns.       33 


'■^ 


t'-''^ 


.J 

:■■■:>> 


The  shaggy  monster  came  on.  Slic  remained  motionless,  her 
eyes  steadily  fixed  upon  her  enemy,  and  as  his  luige  arms  | 
closed  around  her,  she  slowly  drove  the  knife  into  his  heart. 
The  bear  uttered  a  hideous  cry,  and  sank  dead  at  her  feet. 
When  the  hidian  returned,  he  found  the  courageous  wonum 
taking  the  skin  from  the  carcass  of  the  formidable  brute. 

The  wolf  they  hold  in  great  contempt,  and  scarcely  deign 
to  consider  him  as  an  enemy.  Peter  Nogan  assured  me  that 
he  never  was  near  enough  to  one  in  his  life  to  shoot  it ;  that, 
except  in  largo  companies,  and  when  greatly  pressed  by  hun- 
ger, they  rarely  attack  men.  They  hold  the  lynx,  or  wolver- 
ine, in  much  dread,  as  they  often  spring  from  trees  upon  their 
prey,  fastening  upon  the  throat  with  their  sharp  teeth  and 
claws,  from  which  a  person  in  the  dark  could  scarcely  free 
himself  without  first  receiving  a  dangerous  wound.  Th(;  cry 
of  this  animal  is  very  terrifying,  resembling  the  shrieks  of  a 
human  creature  in  mortal  agony. 

My  husband  was  anxious  to  collect  some  of  the  nativ<^  • 
Indian  airs,  as  they  all  sing  well,  and  havft^a  Juq  ^{ly  for  mi i 
sic,  but  all  his  efforts  proved  abortive.     "John,"  he  said  to  / 
young  Nogan  (who  played  very  creditably  on  the  flute,  and 
had  just  concluded  the  popular  air  of  "  Sweet  Home"'),  "  can- 
not you  play  me  one  of  your  own  songs "?" 

"  Yes, — but  no  good." 

"  Leave  me  to  be  the  judge  of  that.  Cannot  you  give  me 
a  war-song  V 

"  Yes, — but  no  good,"  with  an  ominous  shake  of  the  head. 

"  A  hunting-song  ?" 

"No  fit  for  white  man." — with  an  air  of  contempt. — "No 
good,  no  good !" 

"Do,  John,  sing  us  a  'ove-song,"  said  I,  laughing,  "if  you 
have  such  a  thing  in  your  language." 

"  Oh  !  much  love-song — ^very.  much — bad — bad — no  good 

VOL.  Tl.  2* 


;  ■  I 


I 


I 


ai 


iiOUGJUM.i   IT  /.\    nil-:  BUtiH. 


for  I'liiistiaii  man.  Indian  son^  no  gorxl  tor  white  (.'urs.'  This 
was  v«T}'  tantalizing,  as  their  sonj^s  sounded  very  swretl  /  from 
tlu!  lips  of  tlu'ir  squaws,  and  I  had  a  jfrtNil  desiro  and  curiosity 
to  get  sonio  of  them  i-endi'riMl  into  J'lnj^li^h. 

To  my  hu^luind  they  ifavo  the  name  of  "  the  mr.sieian," 
but  I  have  forjj^otten  tiie  hidian  word.     It  sif^'uified  the  maluT 

*     of  sweet  sounds.     Tliey  listened  with  intense  delight  to  tho 
notes  of  his  flute,  maintained  a  breathless  silence  during  thu 

\    performance  ;  their  dai'k  eyes  flashing  in  fierce  light  at  a  m; 

'    tial  strain,  or  softening  with  the  jdaintive  and  tender. 

The  allection  of  hidian  j)arents  to  their  children,  and  the  def- 
erence which  they  pay  to  the  agi'd,  is  a  beautiful  and  touching 
trait  in  their  character. 

One  extremely  cold,  wintry  day,  as  I  was  huddled  with  my 
little  ones  over  the  stove,  the  door  softly  unclosed,  and  tho 
moccasincd  foot  of  an  Indian  crossed  the  floor.  I  raised  mv 
head,  for  I  was  too  much  accustomed  to  their  sudden  appear- 
ance at  any  hour  to  feel  alarmed,  and  perceived  a  tall  woman 
standing  silently  and  respectfully  before  me,  wrajipcd  in  a 
large  blanket.  The  moment  she  caught  my  eye  she  dropped 
the  folds  of  her  covering  from  around  her,  and  laid  at  my  feet 
the  attenuated  figure  of  a  boy,  about  twelve  years  of  age,  who 
was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption. 

"Papouse  die,"  she  said,  mournfully,  clasping  her  hands 
against  her  breast,  and  looking  down  upon  the  suffering  lad 
with  the  most  heartfelt  expression  of  maternal  love,  while 
large  tears  trickled  down  her  dark  face.  "Moodie's  squ.aw 
save  papouse — poor  Indian  woman  much  glau." 

Her  child  was  beyond  all  human  aid.  I  looked  anxiously 
upon  him,  and  knew,  by  the  pinched-iip  features  and  purple 
hue  of  his  wasted  cheek,  that  he  had  not  many  hours  to 
live.  I  could  only  answer  with  tears  her  agonizing  appeal 
to  my  skill. 


«l 


TflK   U'IL/)h/i\h>IS,  AM)   UUh'   LXltUy  FliIEND.<. 


ais 


M 


Ipea! 


"UVy  and  siivo  liim  !     All  die  hiit  him."     (She  held  up 
fire  of  her  lingers.)     "  Brought  him  all  the  way  trom  Mutla 
Lake*  upon  my  back,  for  white  scjuaw  to  cure." 
r       "I   cannot   cure   him,  my  poor    friend.     IIo  is  in  God's 
care;  in  a  few  hours  he  will  be  with  ITini." 

1'he  child  was  seized  witli  u  driadlul  fit  of  coughing,  which  1 
expected  every  moment  would  terminate  his  frail  existence. 
I  gave  him  a  tea-s[)oonful  of  curi ant-jelly,  which  he  took  with 
avidity,  but  could  not  retain  a  moment  on  his  stomach. 

"Papouse  die,"  murmured  the   poor  woman;  "alone — , 
alone!     No  papouse;  the  mother  all  alone." 

She  ])egan  re-adjusting  tlie  poor  sufferer  in  her  blanket.  I 
got  her  some  food,  and  begg(!d  her  to  stay  and  rest  herself; 
but  she  was  too  much  distressed  to  eat,  and  too  restless  to  re- 
main. She  said  little,  but  her  face  expressed  the  keenest 
anguish;  she  took  up  her  mournful  load,  pressed  for  a  moment 
his  wasted,  burning  hand  in  hers,  and  left  the  room. 

My  heart  followed  her  a  long  way  on  her  melancholy 
journey.  Think  what  this  woman's  love  must  have  been  for 
that  dying  son,  when  she  had  carried  a  lad  of  his  age  six  miles, 
through  the  deep  snow,  upon  her  back,  on  such  .'i  day,  in  the 
hope  of  my  being  able  to  do  him  some  good.  Poor  heart- 
broken  mother !  1  learned  from  Joe  Muskrat's  squaw  some 
days  after  that  the  boy  died  a  few  minutes  after  Ii^iizabcth 
Iron,  his  mother,  got  home. 

They  never  forget  any  little  act  of  kindness.  One  cold 
night,  late  in  the  fall,  my  hospitality  was  demanded  by  six 
squaws,  and  puzzled  I  was  how  to  accommodate  them  all.  I 
at  last  determined  to  give  them  the  use  of  the  parlour  floor 
during  the  night.  Among  these  women  there  was  one  veiy  old, 
whose  hair  was  as  white  as  snow.     She  was  the  only  gT%j- 

*  Mud  Lake,  or  Lake  Shemong^  in  Indinn. 


il 


36 


liOUGinNG   IT  IX  THE  BUSH. 


i 


1 


haired  Indian  1  ever  saw,  and  on  that  account  I  regarded  hei 
with  peculiar  interest.  I  knev  that  she  was  the  wife  of  a 
chief,  by  the  scarlet  embroidered  leggings,  which  only  the 
wives  and  daughters  of  chiefs  are  allowed  to  wear.  The  old 
squaw  had  a  very  pleasing  countenance,  but  I  tried  in  vain  to 
draw  her  into  conversation.  She  evidently  did  not  understand 
me  ;  and  the  Muskrat  squaw,  and  Betty  Ck)w,  were  laughing  at 
mj  attempts  to  draw  her  out.  I  administered  supper  to  them 
with  my  own  hands,  and  after  I  had  satisfied  their  wants, 
(wh''ch  is  no  very  easy  task,  for  they  have  great  appetites,)  I 
told  our  servant  to  bring  in  several  spare  mattresses  and 
blankets  for  their  use.  "  Now  mind,  Jenny,  and  give  the  old 
squaw  the  best  bed,"  I  said  ;  "  the  others  are  young  and  can 
put  up  with  a  little  inconvenience." 

The  old  Indian  glanced  at  me  with  her  keen,  bright  eye ; 
but  I  had  no  idea  that  she  comprehended  what  I  said.  Sonie 
weeks  after  this,  as  I  was  sweeping  over  my  parlour  floor,  a 
slight  tap  drew  me  to  the  door.  On  opening  it  I  perceived 
the  old  squaw,  who  immediately  slipped  into  my  hand  a  set 
of  beautifully-embroidered  bark  trays,  fitting  one  within  the 
other,  anc!  exhibiting  the  very  best  sample  of  the  porcupine- . 
quill  work.  While  I  stood  wondering  what  this  might  mean, 
the  good  old  creature  tell  upon  my  neck,  and  kissing  me,  ex- 
claimed, "  You  remember  old  squaw — make  her  comfortable ! 
Old  squaw  no  forget  you.  Keep  them  for  her  sake,"  and  be- 
fore I  could  detain  her  she  ran  down  the  hill  with  a  swiftness 
which  seemed  to  bid  defiance  to  years.  I  never  saw  this  in- 
teresting Indian  again,  and  I  concluded  that  she  died  during 
the  winter,  for  she  must  have  been  of  a  great  age. 

A  friend  was  staving  with  us,  who  wished  much  to  obtain 
B  likeness  of  Old  Peter.  I  promi'^ed  to  try  and  make  a 
sketch  of  the  old  mar  the  next  time  he  paid  us  a  visit.  That 
very  atlernoon  he  brought  us  some  ducks  in  exchange  fo? 


■^HSBSH 


■I 


THE  WILDERNESS,  AND  OUR  INLIAN  FRIENDS.        37 

Dork,  and  Moodie  asked  him  to  stay  and  take  a  glass  of  whis. 

key  with  hiin  and  his  Iriend  Mr.  K .     The  old  man  had 

arrayed  himself  in  a  new  Llanket-coat,  bound  witli  red,  and 
the  seams  all  decorated  with  the  same  gay  material.  His 
leggings  and  moccasins  were  new,  and  elaborately  fringed; 
and,  to  cap  the  climax  of  the  whole,  he  had  a  blue  cloth  coni- 
cal cap  upon  his  head,  ornamented  with  a  deer's  tail  dyed 
blue,  and  several  cock's  feathers.  He  was  evidently  very 
much  taken  up  with  the  magnificence  of  his  own  appearance> 
for  he  often  glanced  at  himself  in  a  small  shaving-glass  that 
hung  opposite,  with  a  look  of  grave  satisfaction.  Sitting 
apart  that  I  might  not  attract  his  observation,  I  got  a  tolera- 
bly faithful  likeness  of  the  old  man,  which,  after  slightly  col- 
ouring, to  show  more   plainly    his   Indian  finery,  I  quietly 

handed  over  to  Mr.  K .     Sly  as  I  thought  myself,  my 

occupation  and  the  object  of  it  had  not  escaped  the  keen  eye 


of  the  old  man.     lie  rose,  came  behind  Mr.  K- 


chair, 
I  was 

No 


and  regarded  the  picture  with  a  most  aHectionate  eye. 
afraid  that  he  would  be  angry  at  the  liberty  I  had  taker 
such  thing !     lie  was  as  pleased  as  Punch. 

"  That  Peter  V  he  grunted.     "  Give  me — put  up  in  wig- 

owgh  !"  and  he  rubbed  his 


wam- 


-make  dog  too  ! 


Owgh  ! 


hands  together,  and  chuckled  with  delight.     Islv.  K had 

some  difliculty  in  coaxing  the  picture  from  the  old  chief;  so 
pleased  was  he  with  this  rude  representation  of  himself.  He 
pointed  to  every  particular  article  of  his  dress,  and  dwelt 
with  peculiar  glee  on  the  cap  and  blue  deer's  tail. 

A  few  days  after  this,  I  was  painting  a  beautiful  little 
snow-bird,  that  our  man  had  shot  out  of  a  large  flock  that 
alighted  near  the  door.  I  was  so  intent  upon  my  task,  to 
which  I  was  putting  the  finishing  strokes,  that  1  did  not  ob- 
serve the  stealthy  entrance  (for  they  all  walk  like  cats)  of  a 
(Stern-looking  red  man,  till  a  slender,  dark  hand  was  extended 


i 


88 


HOUGHING  IT  IN  Tllf.  BU.SII. 


I        4 


m 


over  my  paper  to  grasp  the  dead  bird  from  which  I  was  copy, 
ing,  and  which  as  rapidly  transferred  it  to  the  side  of  the 
painted  one,  accompanying  the  act  with  the  deep  guttural 
note  of  approbation,  the  unnmsical,  savage  "  Owgh." 

My  guest  then  seated  himself  with  the  utmost  gravity  in  a 
rocking-chair,  directly  fronting  me,  and  made  the  modest  de- 
mand that  I  should  paint  a  likeness  of  him,  after  the  following 
quaint  fashion : 

"  Moodie's  squaw  know  much — make  Peter  Nogan  toder 
day  on  ])apare — make  Jacob  to-day — Jacob  young — great 
hunter — give  much  duck — venison — to  squaw." 

Althctiigii  1  felt  rather  afraid  of  my  fierce-looking  visitor,  1 
could  scarcely  keep  my  gravity  ;  there  was  such  an  air  of 
pompous  i^elf-approbjition  about  the  Indian,  such  a  sublime 
look  of  conceit  in  his  grave  vanity. 

"  Hoodie's  squaw  cannot  do  every  thing  ;  she  cannot  paint 
young  nier.,"  said  1,  rising,  and  putting  away  my  drawing 
materials,  upon  which  he  kept  his  eye  intently  fixed,  w-ith  a 
hungry,  avaricious  expression.  1  thought  it  best  to  place  the 
coveted  objects  beyond  his  reach.  After  sitting  for  some 
time,  and  watching  all  my  movements,  he  withdrew,  with  a 
sullen,  disappointed  air.  This  man  was  handsome,  but  his  ex- 
pression was  vile.  Though  he  often  came  to  the  house,  I 
never  could  rectncile  myself  to  his  countenance. 

Late  one  very  dark,  stormy  night,  three  Indians  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  sleep  by  the  kitchen  stove.  The  maid  was 
frightened  out  of  her  wits  at  the  sight  of  these  strangers,  who 
were  M^jhavvks  from  the  Indian  woods  upon  the  Bay  of 
Quinte,  and  they  brought  along  with  them  a  horse  and  cutter. 
The  night  was  so  stormy,  that,  after  consulting  our  man — 
Jacob  Faithful,  as  we  usually  called  him — I  consented  to 
grant  their  petition,  although  they  were  quite  strangers,  and 
taller  and  fieroor-lookiiiff  than  our  friends  the  Missasaguas. 


!■■ 


THE    WILDERNESS,  AND  OUR  INDIAN  FRIENDS. 


3?1 


\ 


1  was  putting  my  children  to  bed,  when  the  girl  came 
rushing  in,  out  of  breath.  "  The  Lord  preserve  us,  madam, 
if  one  of  these  wild  men  has  not  pulled  off*  liis  trowsers,  and 
is  a-sitting  mending  them  behind  the  stove !  and  what  shall  1 
do?" 

"  Do  ? — why,  stay  with  me,  and  leave  the  poor  fellow  tc 
finish  his  work." 

The  simple  girl  had  never  once  thought  of  this  plan  of 
pacifying  her  outraged  sense  of  propriety. 

Their  sense  of  hearing  is  so  acute  that  they  can  distinguish 
soiuids  at  an  mcretlible  distance,  which  cannot  be  detected  by 
a  li^uropean  at  all.  I  myself  witnessed  a  singular  exemplifi- 
cation of  this  fact.  It  was  mid-winter ;  the  Indians  had 
pitched  their  tent,  or  wigwam,  as  usual,  in  our  swamp.  All 
the  males  were  absent  on  a  hunting  expedition  up  the  coun- 
try, and  had  left  two  women  behind  to  take  care  of  the  camp 
and  its  contents,  Mrs.  Tom  Nogan  and  her  children,  and  Su- 
san Moore,  a  young  girl  of  fifteen,  and  the  only  triily  beauti- 
ful squaw  I  evei'  saw.  There  was  something  interesting  about 
this  girl's  history,  as  well  as  her  appearance.  Her  father  had 
been  drowned  during  a  sudden  hurricane,  which  swamped  his 
canoe  on  Stony  Lake  ;  and  the  mother,  who  witnessed  the 
accident  from  the  shore,  and  was  near  her  confinement  with 
this  child,  boldly  swam  out  to  his  assistance.  She  reached  the 
spot  where  he  sank,  and  even  succeeded  in  recovering  the 
body  ;  but  it  was  too  late ;  the  man  was  dead. 

The  soul  of  an  Indian  that  has  been  drowned  is  reckoned 
accursed,  and  he  is  never  permitted  to  join  his  tribe  on  the 
happy  hunting-grounds,  but  his  spirit  haunts  the  lake  or  river 
m  which  he  lost  his  life.  Ilis  body  is  buried  on  some  lonely 
island,  which  the  Indians  never  pass  without  leaving  a  small 
portion  of  food,  tobacco,  or  ammunition,  to  supply  his  wants  ; 
hut  he  is  never  interred  with  the  rest  of  his  people.     His  chil 


40 


ROUGHING  IT  AV  THE  BUSH. 


i 


tm 


'  iili 


-»■  V 


■pM 


dren  are  considered  unlucky,  and  few  willingly  unite  them 
selves  to  the  fenitales  of  the  family,  lest  a  portion  of  the  father's 
curse  should  be  visited  on  them. 

The  orphan  Indian  girl  generally  kept  aloof  from  the  rest, 
and  seemed  so  lonely  and  companionless,  that  she  soon 
attracted  my  attention  and  sympathy,  and  a  hearty  feeling 
of  good- will  sprang  up  between  us.  Her  features  were  small 
and  regular,  her  face  oval,  and  her  large,  dark,  loving  eyes 
were  full  of  tenderness  and  sensibility,  but  as  bright  and  shy 
as  those  of  the  deer.  A  rich  vermilion  glow  burnt  upon  her 
olive  cheek  and  lips,  and  set  off  the  dazzling  whiteness  of  her 
.,  even  an(i  pearly  teeth.  She  was  small  of  stature,  with  deli- 
cate little  hands  and  feet,  and  her  figure  was  elastic  and  grace- 
ful. She  was  a  beautiful  child  of  nature,  and  her  Indian  name 
I  signified  "  the  voice  of  angry  waters."  Poor  girl,  she  had 
been  a  child  of  grief  and  tears  from  her  birth  !  Her  mother 
was  a  Mohawk,  from  whom  she,  in  all  probability,  derived 
her  superior  personal  attractions ;  for  they  are  very  far 
before  the  Missasaguas  in  this  respect. 

My  friend  and  neighbour,  Emilia  S ,  the  wife  of  a  naval 

officer,  who  lived  about  a  mile  distant  from  me,  through  the 
bush,  had  come  to  spend  the  day  with  me  ;  and  hearing  that 
the  Indians  were  in  the  swamp,  and  the  men  away,  we  deter- 
mined to  take  a  few  trifles  to  the  camj),  in  the  way  of  presents, 
and  spend  an  hour  in  chatting  with  the  squaws. 

What  a  beautiful  moonlight  night  it  was,  as  light  as  day ! 
— the  great  forest  sleeping  tranquilly  beneath  the  cloudless 
heavens — not  a  sound  to  disturb  the  deep  repose  of  r.ature  but 
the  whispering  of  the  breeze,  which,  during  the  most  profound 
calm,  creeps  through  the  lofty  pine  tops.  We  bounded  down 
the  steop  bank  to  the  lake  shore.  Life  is  a  blessing,  a  previous 
boon  indeed,  in  such  an  hour,  and  we  felt  happy  in  the  mere 
cor«ciousncss  of  existence — the  glorious  privilege  of  pourinff 


THE   WILDERNE.i:S,  AND   OUIi  INDIAN  FRIENDS.        4i 


out  the  silent  adoration  of  the  heart  to  the  Great  Father  ir, 
his  universal  temple. 

On  entering  the  wigwam,  which  stood  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  clearing,  in  the  middle  of  a  thick  group  of  cedars,  we 
found  Mrs.  Tom  alone  with  her  elvish  children,  seated  before 
the  great  fire  that  burned  in  the  centre  of  the  camp ;  she  was 
busy  boiling  some  bark  in  an  iron  spider.  The  little  boys,  m 
red  flannel  shirts,  which  were  their  only  covering,  were  tor- 
menting a  puppy,  which  seemed  to  take  their  pinching  and 
pommelling  in  good  part,  for  it  neither  attempted  to  bark  nor 
to  bite,  but  like  the  eels  in  the  story,  submitted  to  the  inflic- 
tion because  it  was  used  to  it.  Mrs.  Tom  greeted  us  with  a 
grin  of  pleasure,  and  motioned  us  to  sit  down  upon  a  buflalo 
skin,  which,  with  a  courtesy  so  natural  to  the  Indiuxis,  she  had 
placed  near  her  for  our  accommodation. 

"  You  are  all  alone,"  said  I,  glancing  round  the  camp. 

"  Ye'es ;  Indian  away  hunting — Upper  Lakes.  Come  home 
with  much  deer." 

"  And  Susan,  where  is  she  V 

"  By  and  by,"  (meaning  that  she  was  coming).  "  Gone  to 
fetch  water — ice  thick — chop  with  axe — take  long  time." 

As  she  ceased  speaking,  the  old  blanket  that  formed  the 
door  of  the  tent  was  withdrawn,  and  the  girl,  bearing  two 
pails  of  water,  stood  in  the  open  space,  in  the  white  moon- 
light. The  glow  of  the  fire  streamed  upon  her  dark,  floating 
locks,  danced  in  the  black,  glistening  eye,  and  gave  a  deeper 
blush  to  the  olive  cheek !  She  would  have  made  a  beautiful 
picture ;  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  would  have  rejoiced  in  such  a 
model — so  simply  graceful  and  unaffected,  the  very  beau  idSal 
of  savage  life  and  unadorned  nature.  A  smile  of  recognition 
passed  between  us.  She  put  down  her  burden  beside  Mrs. 
Tom,  and  noiselessly  glided  to  her  seat. 

We  had  scarcely  exchanged  a  few  words  with  our  favour 


---     iti 


! 


42 


HOUGHING   IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


% 


"^O 


^  ^^» 

cC^ 


ite,  when  the  old  squaw,  placuig  her  hand  against  her  ear,  ex. 
claimed,  "  Whist !  whist !" 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Emilia  and  I,  starting  to  our  feet. 
"  Is  there  any  danger  'V 

"A  deer — a  deer — in  bush!"  whispered  the  squaw,  seizing 
&  rifle  that  stood  in  a  corner.  '•'  I  hear  sticks  crack — a  great 
way  off.     Stay  here !" 

A  great  way  off  the  animal  must  have  been,  for  though 
Emilia  and  I  listened  at  the  open  door,  an  advantage  which 
the  squaw  did  not  enjoy,  we  could  not  hear  the  least  sound : 
all  seemed  still  as  death.  The  squaw  whistled  to  an  old 
hoimd,  and  went  out. 

"  Did  you  hear  any  thing,  Susan  1" 

She  smiled,  and  nodded. 

"  Listen ;  the  dog  has  found  the  track." 

The  next  moment  the  discharge  of  a  rifle,  and  the  deep 
baying  of  the  dog,  woke  up  the  sleeping  echoes  of  the  w^oods ; 
and  the  girl  started  off  to  help  the  old  squaw  to  bring  in  the 
game  that  she  had  shot. 

The  Indians  are  great  imitators,  and  possess  a  nice  tact  in 
adopting  the  customs  and  manners  of  those  with  whom  they 
associate.  An  Indian  is  Nature's  gentleman — never  familiar, 
coarse,  or  vulgar.  ifTieTal^e  a  meal  with  you,  he  waits  to 
see  how  you  make  use  of  the  implements  on  the  table,  and 
the  manner  in  which  you  eat,  w^hich  he  imitates  with  a  grave 
decorum,  as  if  he  had  been  accustomed  to  the  same  usage-s 
from  childhood.  lie  never  attempts  to  help  himself,  or  de- 
mand  more  food,  but  waits  patiently  until  you  perceive  what 
he  requires.  I  was  perfectly  astonished  at  this  innate  polite- 
ness, for  it  seems  natural  to  all  the  Indians  with  whom  I  have 
had  any  dealings. 

There  was  one  Id  Indian,  who  belonged  to  a  distant  set- 
tlement,  and  only  sdsited  our  lakes  occasionally  on  hunting 


THK   WILD  Eli  XESS,    i.XD   OUR  IXlH.iX  FRIENDS.        43 

)f.drties.  He  was  a  strange,  eccentric,  merry  old  fellow,  with 
a  skin  like  red  mahogany,  and  a  wiry,  sinewy  frame,  that 
looked  as  if  it  could  bid  defiance  to  every  change  of  tempera- 
turc.  Old  Snow-storm,  for  such  was  his  significant  name,  was 
rather  too  fond  of  the  whiskey-bottle,  and  when  he  had  taken 
a  drop  too  much,  he  became  an  unmanageable  wild  beast. 
He  had  a  great  fancy  for  my  husband,  and  never  visited  the 
other  Indians  without  extending  the  same  fiivour  to  us.  C  ice 
upon  a  time,  he  broke  the  nipple  of  his  gun ;  and  Moodi  -  re- 
paired the  injury  for  him  by  fixing  a  new  one  in  its  place, 
which  little  kindness  quite  won  the  heart  of  the  old  man,  and 
he  never  came  to  see  us  without  bringing  an  offering  of  fish, 
ducks,  partridges,  or  venison,  to  show  his  gratitude. 

One  warm  September  day,  he  made  his  appearance  bare- 
headed, as  usual,  and  carrying  in  his  hand  a  great  checked 
bundle. 

"  Fond  of  grapes  V  said  he,  putting  the  said  bundle  into 
my  hands.  "  Fine  grapes — brought  them  from  island,  for  my 
friend's  squaw  and  papouses." 

Glad  of  the  donation,  which  I  considered  quite  a  prize,  I 
hastened  into  the  kitchen  to  untie  the  grapes  and  put  them 
into  a  dish.  But  imagine  my  disappointment,  when  I  found 
them  wrapped  up  in  a  soiled  shin,  only  recently  taken  from 
the  back  of  the  owner.  I  called  Moodie,  and  begged  him  to 
return  Snow-storm  his  garment,  and  to  thank  him  for  the 
grapes. 

The  mischievous  creature  was  highly  diverted  with  the 
circumstance,  and  laughed  immoderately. 

"  Snow-storm,"  said  he,  "  Mrs.  Moodie  and  the  children 
fire  obliged  to  you  for  your  kindness  in  bringing  them  th^a 
grapes ;  but  how  came  you  to  tie  them  up  in  a  dirty  shirt  1" 

"  Dirty !"  cried  the  old  man,  astonished  that  we  should 
object  to  the  fruit  on  that  score.     "  It  ought  to  be  clean  ;  it 


V''\ 


1- 


14 


ROUQHINO  11  IN  THE  BUSH. 


has  been  washed  often  enough.  Owgh !  You  see,  Moodie,** 
iie  continued,  "  I  have  no  hat — never  wear  hat — want  no  shade 
to  my  eyes — love  the  sun — see  all  around  me — up  and  down 
— much  better  widout  hat.  Could  not  put  grapes  in  hat — 
blanket-coat  too  large,  crush  fruit,  juice  run  out.  I  had  notmg 
but  lay  shirt,  so  I  takes  off  shirt,  and  brings  grape  safe  over 
the  water  on  my  back.  Papouse  no  care  for  dirty  shirt  j 
their  lee-tel  bellies  have  no  eyes^ 

In  spite  of  this  eloquent  harangue,  I  could  not  bring  my. 
self  to  use  the  grapes,  ripe  and  tempting  as  they  looked,  or 
give  them  to  the  children.  Mr.  W and  his  wife  happen- 
ing to  step  in  at  that  moment,  fell  into  such  an  ccstacy  at  the 
sight  of  the  grapes,  that,  as  they  were  perfectly  unacquainted 
with  the  circumstance  of  the  shirt,  I  very  generovsly  gratified 
their  wishes  by  presenting  them  with  the  contents  of  the  large 
dish ;  and  they  never  ate  a  bit  less  sweet  for  the  novel  mode 
in  which  they  were  conveyed  to  me ! 

The  Indians,  under  their  quiet  exterior,  possess  a  deal  of 
humour.  They  have  significant  names  for  every  thing,  and  a 
nickname  for  every  one,  and  some  of  the  latter  are  laughably 
appropriate.  A  fat,  pompous,  ostentatious  settler  in  our 
neighbourhood  they  called  Muckakee,  "  the  bull-frog."  An- 
other, rather  a  fine  yoiing  man,  but  with  a  very  red  face, 
they  named  Segoskee^  "  the  rising  sun."  Mr.  Wood,  who  had 
a  farm  above  ours,  was  a  remarkably  slender  young  man, 
and  to  him  they  gave  the  appellation  of  Metis,  "  thin  stick." 
A  woman,  that  occasionally  worked  for  me,  had  a  disagree- 
able squint ;  she  was  known  in  Indian  by  the  name  of  Sacha- 
bo,  "  cross-eye."  A  gentlema  \  with  a  very  large  nose  was 
Choojas,  "  big,  or  ugly  nose."  My  little  Addle,  who  was  a 
fair,  lovely  creature,  they  viewed  with  great  approbation,  and 
called  Anoonk,  "  a  star ;"  while  the  rosy  Katie  was  Nogesi- 
gook,  "  the  northern  lights."     As  to  me,  1  was  Nonocosiqni,  a 


i! 


\ 


THE   WILDKUNEi^S,  AM)  uUR  INDIAN  FRIENDS,       45 


t 

t 


^3 

■~-f 


^  liuiuming-bird  ;"  a  ridiculous  name  for  a  tall  woman,  but  it 
nfui  reference  to  the  delight  I  took  in  painting  birds.  My 
tVicnd,  Emilia,  was  "  blue  cloud ;"  my  little  Donald,  "  frozen 

face ;"  young  C ,  "  the  red-headed  woodpecker,"  from  the 

colour  of  his  hair ;  my  brother,  Chippewa^  and  "  the  bald- 
headed  eagle."     He  was  an  especial  favourite  among  them. 

The  Indians  are  often  made  a  prey  of  and  cheated  by  the  / 
unprincipled, sgjjlsjcs,  who  think  it  no  crime  to  overreach  a/ 
red  skin.  One  anecdote  will  fully  illustrate  this  fact.  AJ 
young  squaw,  who  was  near  becoming  a  mother,  stopped  at 
a  Smith-town  settler's  house  co  rest  herself.  The  woman  of 
the  house,  who  was  Irish,  was  peeling  for  dinner  some 
large  white  turnips,  which  her  husband  had  grown  in  theii 
garden.  The  Indian  had  never  seen  a  turnip  before,  and  the 
appearance  of  the  firm,  white,  juicy  root  gave  her  such  a  keen 
(graving  to  taste  it  that  she  very  earnestly  begged  for  a  small 
piece  to  eat.  She  had  purchased  at  Peterborough  a  large 
stone-china  bowl,  of  a  very  handsome  pattern,  (or,  perhaps, 
got  it  at  the  store  in  exchange  for  a  basket,)  the  worth  of 
which  might  be  half-a-dollnr.  It'  the  poor  squaw  longed  for 
the  turnip,  the  valve  of  which  could  scarcely  reach  a  copper, 
the  covetous  European  had  fixed  as  longing  a  glance  upon  the 
china  bowl,  and  she  was  determined  to  gratify  her  avaricious 
desire  and  obtain  it  on  the  most  easy  terms.  She  told  the 
squaw,  with  some  disdain,  that  her  man  did  not  gi'ow  turnips 
to  give  away  to  "  Injuns,"  but  she  would  sell  her  one.  The 
squaw  offered  her  four  coppers,  all  the  change  she  had  about 
her.  This  the  woman  refused  with  contempt.  She  then 
proffered  a  basket ;  but  that  was  not  sufficient ;  nothing  would 
satisfy  her  but  the  bowl.  The  Indian  demurred  ;  but  oppo. 
sition  had  only  increased  her  craving  for  the  turnip  in  a  ten- 
fold degree  ;  and,  {if>er  a  short  mental  struggle,  in  which  the 
animal  propcnsit*'  overcame  the  warnings  of  prudence,  tho 


1 

■:1 


!l 


\ 


V 


46 


ROUGHING   IT  IN  THE  Utrsil. 


squaw  gave  up  the  bow],  and  received  in  return  one  turnip  i 
The  daughter  of  this  woman  told  me  this  anecdote  of  het 
mother  as  a  very  clever  thing.  What  ideas  some  peopi* 
have  of  moral  justice  ! 

I  have  said  before  that  the  Indian  never  forgets  a  kindness. 
We  had  a  thousand  proofs  of  this,  when,  overtaken  by  misfor- 
tune, and  withering  beneath  the  iron  grasp  of  poverty,  we 
could  scarcely  obtain  bread  for  ourselves  and  our  little  ones ; 
then  it  was  that  the  truth  of  the  Eastern  proverb  was  brought 
home  to  our  hearts,  and  the  goodness  of  God  fully  manifested 
towards  us,  "  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters,  and  thou  shalt 
find  it  after  many  days."  During  better  times  we  had  treated 
these  poor  savages  with  kindness  and  liberality,  and  when 
dearer  friends  looked  coldly  upon  us  they  never  forsook  us. 
For  many  a  good  meal  I  have  been  indebted  to  them,  when  I 
had  nothing  to  give  in  return,  when  the  pantry  was  empty, 
and  "  the  hearth-stone  growing  cold,"  as  they  term  the  want 
of  provisions  to  cook  at  it.  And  their  delicacy  in  conferring 
these  favours  was  not  the  least  admirable  part  of  their  con- 
duct. John  Nogan,  who  was  much  attached  to  us,  would 
bring  a  fine  bunch  of  ducks,  and  drop  them  at  my  feet  "  for 
the  papouse,"  or  leave  a  large  muskinoiige  on  the  sill  of  the 
door,  or  place  a  quarter  of  venison  just  within  it,  and  slip 
away  without  saying  a  word,  thinking  that  receiving  a  present 
from  a  poor  Indian  might  hurt  our  feelings,  and  he  would 
spare  us  the  mortification  of  returning  thanks. 

When  an  Indian  loses  one  of  his  children,  he  must  keep  a 
strict  fas*  for  three  days,  abstaining  from  food  of  any  kind. 
A  hunter,  of  the  name  of  Young,  told  me  a  curious  story  of 
their  rigid  observance  of  this  strange  rite, 

"  They  had  a  chief,"  he  said,  "  a  few  years  ago,  whom  they 
called  '  Handsome  Jack' — whether  in  derision,  I  cannot  tell, 
for  he  was  one  of  the  ugliest  Indians  I  ever  saw.     The  scarlet 


THE    WlLDKJiXESS^  AND   OUlt  INDIAN  FHIENVS. 


n 


fever  g(jt  into  tho  camp — a  terrible  disease  in  this  country, 
and  doubly  terrible  to  those  poor  creatures  who  duii't  know 
how  to  treat  it.  TTls  eldest  daughter  died.  The  chief  had 
fasted  two  days  when  I  met  him  in  the  bush.  I  did  not  laiow 
•.vhat  had  happened,  ])ut  I  opened  my  wallet,  for  I  was  on  a 
hunting  expedition,  and  ollered  him  some  bread  and  dried 
venison.     lie  looked  at  me  reproachfully. 

•' '  Do  white  men  eat  bread  the  first  night  their  papouse  is 
laid  in  the  earth  V 

"  I  then  knew  the  cause  of  his  depression,  and  left  him." 

On  the  night  of  the  second  day  of  his  fast  another  child 
died  of  the  fever.  lie  had  now  to  accomplish  three  mor«i 
days  without  tasting  food.  It  was  too  much  even  for  an 
hidian.  On  the  evening  of  the  fourth,  he  was  so  pressed  by 
ravenous  hunger,  that  he  stole  into  the  woods,  caught  a  bull- 
frog, and  devoured  it  alive.  He  imagined  himself  alone,  but 
one  of  his  j)e(jple,  suspecting  his  intention,  had  followed  him, 
unperceived,  to  the  bush.  The  act  he  had  just  committed 
was  a  liidcous  crime  in  their  eyes,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
camp  was  in  an  uproar.  The  chief  fled  for  ])rotection  to 
Young's  house.  When  the  hunter  demanded  ti:e  cause  of  his 
alarm,  he  gave  for  answer,  "  Tliere  are  plenty  of  flies  at  my 
house.     To  avoid  their  stings  I  came  to  you." 

It  required  all  the  eloquence  of  Mr.  Young,  who  enjoyed 
much  popularity  among  them,  to  reconcile  the  rebellious 
tribe  to  their  chief. 

They  are  very  skilful  in  their  treatment  of  wounds,  and 
many  diseases.  Their  knowledge  of  the  medicinal  (jualities 
of  their  plants  and  herbs  is  v^ry  great.  They  make  excellent 
poultices  from  the  bark  of  the  bass  and  the  sIlppL-ry-elm. 
They  use  several  native  plants  in  their  dyeing  of  baskets  and 
porcupine  quills.  The  inner  bark  of  the  swamp-alder,  simply 
boiled  in  witer,  makes  a  "tK-'autifiil  red.     From  the  root  of  the   1 


i 

1  1 

r 
! 

#j 

I 

48 


liOUGllimt  IT  IN   TIIK  RUSH. 


black  })riony  they  obtain  a  fiiio  salvo  for  soivs,  and  extract  a 
rich  yellow  dye.  The  iniuT  hark  of  tho  root  of  the  sumach, 
roasted,  and  redneed  to  po\V(l<;r,  is  a  ^(nA  remedy  fur  tiio 
ague  ;  a  tea-spoonful  given  l)etween  the  hot  and  cold  lit.  They 
scrape  the  fine  white  powder  from  the  large  fungus  that  grows 
upon  the  bark  of  the  [)inc  into  whiskey,  and  take  it  for  violent 
paiuo  in  the  stomach.  The  taste  of  this  powder  strongly  re- 
minded  mo  of  qu. nine. 

I  have  read  much  of  the  excellence  of  Indian  cookery,  but 
I  never  could  bring  myself  to  taste  cny  thing  prepared  in  their 
dirty  wigwams.  1  remember  being  highly  amused  in  Nvalch- 
ing  the  prertaration  (>f  a  mess,  whicb  might  have  been  called 
the  Indian  hotch-potch.  Jt  consisiud  of  a  strange  mixture  of 
fish,  flesh,  and  flowl,  all  IxM'ed  t/ -ether  :!•  the  same  vessel. 
Ducks,  partridges,  muskinonge,  venison,  and  muskrats,  fjrmcd 
a  part  of  this  delectable  compound.  These  ^vere  litm-ally 
smothered  in  oniOi^s,  potatoes,  and  turnij)s,  which  they  had 
procured  from  me.  They  very  hospitably  oftered  me  a  dish- 
ful of  the  odious  mixtu>'e,  which  the  odour  of  the  muskrats 
rendered  every  thing  but  savoury;  but  I  declined,  simply  .^ta-  ^ 
ting  that  I  was  not  hungry.  My  little  boy  tasted  it,  but  (quickly  :^  *^^ 
left  the  camp  to  conceal  the  efl'ect  it  produced  upon  him.         _.*^      ^"^ 

Their  method  of  broiling  fish,  however,  is  excellent.    They;  ^  ^ 
take  a  fish,  just  fresh  out  ./  the  water,  cut  out  the  entrails,x^    i 
and,  wi<^hout  removing  the   rcales,  wash  it  clean,  dry  it  in  a       vJ 
clotli,  or  in  grease,  and  cover  it  all  over  with  clear  hot  ashes. 
When  the  flesh  will  part  from  the  bore,  they  draw  it  oul  of 
the  ashes,  strip  ofl'  the  skin,  and  it  is  fit  for  the  table  of  the* 
moHtt  fastidious  epicure. 

The  deplorable  want  of  chastity  that  exists  among  the 
Indian  women  of  this  tribe  seems  Tt)  have  been  more  the 
result  of  their  intercourse  with  the  settlers  in  the  country 
than  from  any  previous  disposition  to  this  vice     The  iealousj 


TIIK    \Vl[.!>FJii\ESS,   AM)   OlIH   INDIAX  FlilEWDS. 


<ir 


of  their  liusbaiitls  has  often  been  exercised  in  a  terrible  man- 
ner against  tlie  olVendiiig  sqnawa ;  l)ut  this  has  not  happened 
of  hilc  }ears.  The  men  wink  at  these  derelictions  in  their 
wives,  and  share  with  liicm  the  price  of  their  slmme. 

The  mixture  of  Eurojiean  blood  adds  greatly  to  the  phy- 
sical  beauty  of  the  halfrace,  but  [)roduces  a  sad  falling  olf 
iVom  the  original  integrity  of  the  hidian  character.  The  half- 
C'lisixj^jjeiR^^iH^ 

qualiiies  of  both  ])arents  in  an  eminent  degree.  Wo  have 
many  of  these  half-Indians  in  the  penitentiary,  for  crimes  of 
the  bhickest  dye. 

The  skill  of  the  hidian  in  procuring  his  game,  cither  by 
land  or  water,  has  been  too  well  described  by  better  writers 
than  1  could  ever  hope  to  be,  to  need  any  illustration  from 
my  pen,  and  I  will  close  this  long  chapter  with  a  droll  anec- 
dote which  is  told  of  a  gentleman  in  this  neighbourhood. 

The  early  loss  of  his  hair  obliged  Mr. to  procure  the 

substitute  of  a  wig.  This  was  such  a  gcjod  imitation  of  na- 
ture, that  none  but  his  intimate  friends  and  neighbours  were 
aware  of  the  fact.  It  happened  that  he  had  had  some  quai'rel 
With  an  Indian,  which  had  to  be  settled  in  one  of  the  petty 

courts.     The  case  was  decided  in  favour  of  Mr. ,  which 

so  aggrieved  the  savage,  who  considered  himself  the  injured 
party,  that  he  sprang  upon  him  with  a  furious  yell,  tomahawk 
in  hand,  with  the  intention  of  depriving  him  of  his  scalp.  Ho 
twisted  his  hand  in  the  locks  which  adorned  the  cranium  .€ 
his  adversary,  when — horror  of  horrors! — the  treacherous  wig 
came  olV  in  his  hand,  •'  Owgh !  owgh !"  exclaimed  the  affrighted 
wavago,  flinging  it  from  him,  and  rushing  from  the  court  as  if 
he  had  been  bitten  by  a  rattlesnake.     His  sudden  exit  was 

followed  by  })cals  of  laughter  from  the  crowd,  while  Mr. 

coolly  ])ickod  up  his  wig,  and  dryly  remarked  that  it  had 
saved  his  head. 

VOL.  u.  8 


RO 


Eomuma  it  in  tiik  bush. 


CHAPTEE   III. 


BURNING     THE     FALLOW. 


I 

if 


,1 


IT  is  not  my  intention  to  give  a  regular  history  of  our  resi 
dence  in  the  bush,  but  merely  to  present  to  my  readers 
such  events  as  may  serve  to  illustrate  a  life  in  the  woods. 

The  winter  and  spring  of  1834  had  passed  away.  The 
latter  was  uncommonly  cold  and  backward  ;  so  much  so 
that  we  had  a  very  heavy  fall  of  snow  upon  the  14th  and 
15th  of  May,  and  several  gentlemen  drove  down  to  Cobourg 
in  a  sleig}i,  the  snow  lying  upon  the  ground  to  the  depth  of 
several  inches. 

A  late,  cold  spring  in  Canada  is  generally  succeeded  by  a 
burning,  hot  summer  ;  and  the  summer  of  '34  was  the  hottest 
I  (>ver  remember.  No  rain  fell  upon  the  earth  for  many 
weeks,  till  nature  drooped  and  withered  beneath  one  bright 
blaze  of  simlight ;  and  the  ague  and  fever  in  the  woods,  and 
the  cholei-a  in  the  large  towns  and  cities,  spread  death  and 
sicknesS'  tfrn^ugmTie  country. 

Moodie  had  made  during  the  winter  a  large  clearing  of 
twenty  acres  around  the  house.  The  progress  of  the  workmen 
had  been  watched  bv  me  with  the  keenest  interest.  Everv 
tree  that  reached  the  ground  opened  a  wic'er  gap  in  the  dark 
wood,  giving  us  a  broader  ray  of  light, and  a  clearer  glimpse 
of  the  blue  sky.  But  when  the  dark  cedar  swamp  fronting 
the  house  fell  beneath  the  strokes  of  the  axe,  and  wo  got  a  first 
view  of  the  lake,  mv  jov  was  complete:  a  new  and  beautiful 


BURNING   THE  FALLOW. 


51 


object  was  now  constantly  before  me,  which  gave  me  the 
greatest  pleasure.  By  night  and  day,  in  sunshine  or  in  storm, 
water  is  always  the  most  sublime  feature  in  a  landscape,  and 
no  view  can  be  truly  grand  in  which  it  is  wanting.  From  a 
child,  it  always  had  the  most  powerful  cflect  upon  my  mind, 
from  the  great  ocean  rolling  in  majesty,  to  the  tinkling  forest 
rill,  hidden  by  the  flowers  and  rushes  along  its  banks.  Half 
the  solitude  of  my  forest  home  vanished  when  the  lake  un- 
veiled its  bright  face  to  the  blue  heavens,  and  I  saw  sun  and 
moon  and  stars  and  waving  trees  reflected  there.  I  would 
sit  for  hours  at  the  window  as  the  shades  of  evening  deepened 
round  me,  watching  the  massy  foliage  of  the  forests  pictured 
in  the  waters,  till  fancy  transported  me  back  to  England,  and 
the  songs  of  birds  and  the  lowing  of  cattle  were  sounding  in 
my  ears.  It  was  long,  very  long,  before  I  could  discipline  my 
mind  to  learn  and  practise  all  the  menial  employments  which 
are  necessary  in  a  good  settler's  wife. 

The  total  absence  of  trees  about  the  doors  in  all  new  set- 
tlements had  always  puzzled  me,  in  a  coimtry  where  the  in- 
tense heat  of  summer  seemf?  to  demand  all  the  shade  that 
can  be  procured.  My  husband  had  left  several  beautiful 
rock-elms  (the  most  picturesque  tree  in  the  country)  near  our 
dwelling,  but,  alas !  the  first  high  gale  prostrated  all  my  fine 
trees,  and  left  our  log  cottage  entirely  exposed  to  the  fierce 
rays  of  the  sun.  The  confusion  of  an  uncleared  fallow  spread 
around  us  on  every  side.  Huge  trunks  of  trees  and  piles  of 
brush  gave  a  littered  and  uncomfortable  appearance  to  the 
locality,  and  as  the  weather  had  been  very  dry  for  some  | 
weeks,  I  heard  my  husband  daily  talking  with  his  choppers  as 
to  the  expediency  of  firing  the  fallow.  They  still  urged  him 
k)  wait  a  little  longer,  until  he  could  get  a  good  breeze  to 
»-arry  the  fire  well  through  the  brush. 

Business  called   him   suddenly  to  Toronto,  but  he   left  ft 


I  ,t 


52 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BITSH. 


I  H 


strict  charge  with  old  Thomas  and  his  sons,  who  were  engaged 
in  the  job,  by  no  means  to  attempt  to  burn  it  off  till  he  re- 
turned, as  he  wished  to  be  upon  the  premises  himself,  in  case 
of  any  danger.  He  had  previously  burnt  all  the  heaps  im- 
mediately about  the  doors.  While  he  was  absent,  old  Thomas 
and  his  second  son  fell  sick  with  the  ague,  and  went  home  to 
their  own  township,  leaving  John,  a  surly,  obstinate  young 
man,  in  charge  of  the  shanty,  where  they  slept,  and  kept  their 
tools  and  provisions.  Monaghan  I  had  sent  to  fetch  up  my 
three  cows,  as  the  children  were  languishing  for  milk,  and 
Mary  and  I  remained  alone  in  the  house  with  the  little  ones. 
The  day  was  sultry,  and  towards  noon  a  strong  wind  sprang 
up  that  roared  in  the  pine  tops  like  the  dashing  of  distant  bil- 
lows, but  without  in  the  least  degree  abating  the  heat.  The 
children  were  lying  listlessly  upon  the  floor  for  coolness,  and 
the  girl  and  I  were  finishing  sun-bonnets,  when  Mary  suddenly 
exclaimed,  "  Bless  us,  mistress,  what  a  smoke !"  I  ran  im- 
mediately to  the  door,  but  was  not  able  to  distinguish  ten  yards 
before  me.  The  swamp  immediately  below  us  was  on  fire, 
and  the  heavy  wind  was  driving  a  dense  black  cloud  of 
smoke  directly  towards  us. 

"  What  can  this  mean  V  I  cried,  "  Who  can  have  set  fire 
to  the  fallow'?" 

As  I  ceased  speaking,  John  Thomas  stood  pale  and  trem 
bling  before  me.     "  John,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  fire  V 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me ;  it  was  I  set  fire 
to  it,  and  I  would  give  all  I  have  in  the  world  if  I  had  not 
done  it." 

"What  is  the  danger r 

"  Oh,  I'm  terribly  afeard  that  we  shall  all  be  burnt  up,** 
said  the  fellow,  beginning  to  whimper. 

"  Why  did  you  run  such  a  risk,  and  your  master  from 
noiHc.  and  no  one  on  the  place  to  render  the  least  assistance?'* 


BUUmXG   THE  FALLOW. 


53 


n 


pom 


•*I  did  it  for  the  best,"  blubbered  the  lad.  "  What  shall 
we  dof 

"  Why,  we  must  get  out  of  it  as  fast  as  we  can,  and  leava 
the  house  to  its  fate." 

"  We  can't  get  out,"  said  the  man,  in  a  low,  hollow  tone, 
which  seemed  the  concentration  of  fear  ;  "  I  would  have  got 
out  of  it  if  I  could ;  but  just  step  to  the  back  door,  ma'am, 
and  see." 

I  had  not  felt  the  least  alarm  up  to  this  minute ;  I  had 
never  seen  a  fallow  burnt,  but  I  had  heard  of  it  as  a  thing  of 
such  common  occurrence  that  I  had  never  connected  with  it 
any  idea  of  danger.  Judge  then,  my  surprise,  my  horror, 
when,  on  going  to  the  back  door,  I  saw  that  the  fellow,  to 
m.ake  sure  of  his  work,  had  fired  the  field  in  fifty  different 
places.  Behind,  before,  on  every  side,  we  were  surrounded 
by  a  wall  of  fire,  burning  furio\isly  within  a  hundred  yards 
of  us,  and  cutting  oi  all  possibility  of  retreat ;  for  could  we 
have  found  an  opening  through  the  burning  heaps,  we  could 
not  have  seen  our  way  through  the  dense  canopy  of  smoke ; 
and,  buried  as  we  were  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  no  one 
could  discover  our  situation  till  we  were  beyond  the  reach  of 
help.  I  closed  the  door,  and  went  back  to  the  parlour.  Fear 
was  knocking  loudly  at  my  heart,  for  our  utter  helplessness 
annihilated  all  hope  of  being  able  to  effect  our  escape — I  felt 
stupefied.  The  girl  sat  upon  the  floor  by  the  children,  who, 
unconscious  of  the  peril  that  hung  over  them,  had  both  fallen 
asleep.  She  was  silently  weeping ;  while  the  fool  who  had 
caused  the  mischief  was  crvin";  aloud. 

A  strange  calm  succeeded  my  first  alarm ;  tears  and 
lamentations  were  useless ;  a  horrible  death  was  impending 
over  us,  and  yet  I  could  not  believe  that  we  were  to  die.  I 
sat  down  upon  the  step  of  the  door,  and  watched  the  awful 
scene  in  silence.    The  fire  was  raging  m  the  cedar  swamp,  im- 


64 


lUWGfllXC  IT  L\  THJi:  BU6H. 


V      ^ 


mediately  below  the  ridge  on  which  the  house  stood,  and  \\ 
presented  a  spectacle  truij  appalling.  From  out  the  dense 
folds  of  a  canopy  of  black  smoke,  the  blackest  I  ever  saw, 
leaped  up  continually  red  forks  of  lurid  flame  as  high  as  the 
tree  tops,  igniting  the  branches  of  a  group  of  tall  pines  that 
had  been  left  standing  for  *»«--logs.  A  deep  gloom  blotted  /X-t\\) 
out  the  heavens  from  our  sight.  The  air  was  filled  with  fiery  "" 
particles,  which  floated  even  to  the  door-step — while  the  crack- 
ling and  roaring  of  the  flames  might  have  been  heard  at  a 
great  distance.  Could  we  have  reached  the  lake  shore,  where 
several  canoes  were  moored  at  the  landing,  by  launching  out 
into  the  water  we  should  have  been  in  perfect  safety  ;  but,  to 
attain  this  object,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  through  this  mimic 
hell ;  and  not  a  bird  could  have  flown  over  it  with  unscorched 
wings.  There  was  no  hope  in  that  quarter,  for,  could  we  have 
escaped  the  flames,  we  should  have  been  blinded  and  choked 
by  the  thick,  black,  resinous  smoke.  The  fierce  wind  drove 
the  flames  at  the  sides  and  back  of  the  house  up  the  clearing ; 
and  our  passage  to  the  road,  or  to  the  forest,  on  the  right  and 
left,  was  entirely  obstructed  by  a  sea  of  flames.  Our  only 
ark  of  safety  was  the  house,  so  long  as  it  remained  untouched 
by  the  consuming  element.  I  turned  to  young  Thomas,  and 
asked  him,  how  long  he  thought  that  would  be. 

"  When  the  fire  clears  this  little  ridge  in  front,  ma'am. 
The  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  then,  or  we  must  all  go !" 

"  Cannot  yoii^  John,  try  and  make  your  escape,  and  fiee 
what  can  be  done  for  us  and  the  poor  children'?" 

My  eye  fell  upon  the  sleeping  angels,  locked  peacefully  iu 
each  others  arms,  and  my  tears  flowed  for  the  first  time. 
Mary,  the  servant-girl,  looked  piteously  up  in  my  face.  The 
good,  fiiithful  creature  had  not  uttered  one  word  of  complaint, 
but  now  she  faltered  forth, 

"The  dear,  precious  lambs  ! — Oh  !  such  a  death!" 


JHURNINO  THE  FALLOW. 


55 


I  threw  myself  down  upon  the  floor  beside  them,  and 
pressed  them  alternately  to  my  heart,  while  inwardly  I 
thanked  God  that  they  were  asleep,  unconscious  of  danger, 
and  unable  by  their  childish  cries  to  distract  our  attention 
from  adopting  any  plan  which  might  otfer  to  effect  their 
escape. 

The  heat  soon  became  suffocating.  We  were  parched  with 
thirst,  and  there  was  not  a  drop  of  water  in  the  house,  and 
none  to  be  procured  nearer  than  the  lake.  I  turned  once 
more  to  the  door,  hoping  that  a  passage  might  have  been 
burnt  through  to  the  water.  I  saw  nothing  but  a  dense  cloud 
of  fire  and  smoke — could  hear  nothing  but  the  crackling  and 
roaring  of  flames,  which  were  gaining  so  fast  upon  us  that  I 
felt  their  scorching  breath  in  my  face. 

"  Ah,"  thought  I — and  it  was  a  most  bitter  thought — "  what 
will  my  beloved  husband  say  when  he  returns  and  finds  that 
poor  Susy  and  his  dear  girls  have  perished  in  this  miserable 
manner  %    But  God  can  save  us  yet." 

The  thought  had  scarcely  found  a  voice  in  my  heart  before 
the  wind  rose  to  a  hurricane,  scattering  the  flames  on  all  sides 
into  a  tempest  of  burning  billows.  I  buried  my  head  in 
my  apron,  for  I  thought  that  our  time  was  come,  and  that 
all  was  lost,  when  a  most  terrific  crash  of  inunder  burst 
over  our  heads,  and,  like  the  breaking  of  a  water-spout,  down 
came  the  rushing  torrent  of  rain  which  had  been  pent  up  for 
so  many  weeks.  In  a  few  minutes  the  chip-yard  was  all 
afloat,  and  the  fire  effectually  checked.  The  storm  which,  un- 
noticed })y  us,  had  been  gathering  all  day,  and  which  was  the 
only  one  of  any  note  we  had  that  summer,  continued  to  rage 
all  night,  and  before  morning  had  quite  subdued  the  cruel 
enemy,  whose  approach  we  had  viewed  with  such  dread. 

The  imminent  danger  in  which  we  had  been  placed  struck 
me  more  forcibly  after  it  was  past  than  at  the  time,  and  both 


i' 


% 


■w 


r>o 


nouGinxa  it  in  the  buhh. 


the  girl  and  myself  sank  upon  our  knees,  and  lifted  up  oui 
hearts  in  humble  thanksgiving  to  that  God  who  had  saved  us 
by  an  act  of  His  Providence  from  an  awful  and  ^dden  death. 
When  all  hope  from  human  assistance  was  lost,  His  hand  was 
mercifully  stretched  forth,  making  His  strength  more  perfectly 
manifested  in  our  weakness : — 

**  He  is  their  stay  when  earthly  help  is  loat, 
The  light  and  anchor  of  the  tempest-toss'd." 

There  was  one  person,  unknown  to  us,  who  had  watched 
the  progress  of  that  rash  blaze,  and  had  even  brought  his 
canoe  to  the  landing,  in  the  hope  of  getting  us  off.  This  was  an 
Irish  pensioner  named  Dunn,  who  had  cleared  a  few  acres  on 
his  government  grant,  and  had  built  a  shanty  on  the  opposite 
shore  of  the  lake. 

"  Faith,  madam !  an'  I  thought  the  captain  was  stark,  sta- 
ring mad  to  fire  his  fellow  on  such  a  windy  day,  and  that  blow- 
ing right  from  the  lake  to  the  house.  When  Old  Wittals 
came  in  and  towld  us  that  the  masther  was  not  to  the  fore, 
but  only  one  lad,  an'  the  wife  an'  the  chilther  at  liome, — 
thinks  1,  there's  no  time  to  be  lost,  or  the  crathurs  will  be 
burnt  up  intirely.  We  started  instanther,  but,  by  Jove  !  we 
wen^-  too  late.  The  swamp  was  all  in  a  blaze  when  we  got  to 
the  landing,  and  you  might  as  well  have  tried  to  get  to  heaven 
by  passing  through  the  other  place." 

This  was  the  eloquent  harangue  with  which  the  honest 
creature  informed  me  the  next  morning  of  the  efforts  hp-  had 
made  to  save  us,  and  the  interest  he  had  felt  in  our  critical 
situation.  I  felt  comforted  for  my  past  anxiety,  by  knowing 
that  one  human  being,  however  humble,  had  sympathized  in 
our  probable  fate ;  while  the  providential  manner  in  which 
we  had  been  rescued  will  ever  remain  a  theme  of  wonder  and 
gratitude. 


JiUHyiNG  THE  FALLOW. 


&1 


The  next  evening  brought  the  return  of  my  husband,  who 
listened  to  the  tale  of  our  escape  with  a  pale  and  disturbed 
countenance;  not  a  little  thankful  to  find  his  wife  and  children 
still  in  the  land  of  the  living.  For  a  long  time  after  the 
burning  of  that  fallow,  it  haunted  me  in  my  dreams.  I  would 
awake  with  a  start,  imagining  myself  fighting  with  the  flames, 
and  endeavouring  to  carry  uiy  little  children  through  them  to 
the  top  of  the  clearing,  when  mvariably  their  garments  and 
my  own  took  fire  just  as  I  was  withiii  reach  of  a  place  of 
•afety. 

VOL.  n.  8* 


, 


58 


MOUOHLNG  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

OUR   LOOGING-BEB. 

Tbare  was  a  man  in  our  towa^ 
]«  our  town,  iu  our  town— 
Tfevre  was  a  man  in  our  town, 
Be  made  a  logging-bee ; 

And  he  bought  lota  of  whiskeqTf 
To  make  the  loggers  frisky — 
To  make  the  loggers  frisky 
At  bis  logging-boo. 

Tbo  Devil  sat  on  a  log  heap, 
A  Io«  heap,  a  log  heap — 
\  A  red-hot  burning  iog  heap — 

A-grinning  at  the  bee ; 

And  there  was  lots  of  swearing. 
Of  boasting  and  of  daring. 
Of  fighting  and  of  tnariug. 
At  that  logging-bee. 

J.  W.  D.  M. 

A  LOGGING-BEE  followed  the  burning  of  the  fallow,  as  a 
matter  of  course.  In  the  bush,  w^here  hands  are, few,  and 
labour  commands  an  enormous  rate  of  wages,  these  gather- 
ings are  considered  indispensable,  and  much  has  been  written 
in  their  praise ;  but,  to  me,  they  present  the  most  disgusting 
picture  of  a  bush  life.  They  are  noisy,  riotous,  drunken  meet- 
ings, often  terminating  in  violent  quarrels,  sometim«^s  even  in 
bloodshed.  Accidents  of  the  most  serious  nature  often  occur, 
and  very  little  work  is  done,  when  we  consider  the  number 
of  hands  employed,  and  the  great  consumption  of  food  ftud 


OUR  LOGGINO-BEE. 


59 


liquor.  I  am  certain,  in  our  case,  had  we  hired  with  the  money 
expended  in  providing  for  the  bee,  two  or  three  industrious, 
hard-working  men,  we  should  have  got  through  twice  as  much 
woric,  and  have  had  it  done  well,  and  have  heen  the  gainers  in 
the  end. 

People  in  the  woods  have  a  craze  for  giving  and  going  to 
bees,  and  run  to  them  with  as  much  eagerness  as  a  peasant 
runs  to  a  race-course  or  a  fair ;  plenty  of  strong  drink  and  ex- 
citement making  the  chief  attraction  of  the  bee.  In  raising  a 
house  or  barn,  a  bee  may  be  looked  upon  as  a  necessary  evil, 
but  these  gatherings  are  generally  conducted  in  a  more  orderly 
manner  than  those  for  logging.  Fewer  hands  are  required  ; 
and  they  are  generally  under  the  control  of  the  carpenter  who 
puts  up  the  frame,  and  if  they  get  drunk  during  the  raising 
they  are  liable  to  meet  with  very  serious  accidents. 

Thirty-two  men,  gentle  and  simple,  were  invited  to  our 
bee,  and  the  maid  and  I  were  engaged  for  two  days  preceding 
the  important  one,  in  baking  and  cooking  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  our  guests.  When  I  looked  at  the  quantity  of  food 
we  had  prepared,  I  thought  that  it  never  could  be  all  eaten, 
even  by  thirty-two  men.  It  was  a  burning-hot  day  towards 
the  end  of  July,  when  our  loggers  began  to  come  in,  and  the 
"  gee !"  and  "  ha !"   of  the  oxen  resounded  on   every  side. 

There  was  my  brother  S ,  with  his  frank  English  face,  a 

host  in  himself;  Lieutenant  in  his  blouse,  wide  white 

trowsers,  and  red  sash,  his  broad  straw  hat  shading  a  dark 
manly  face  that  would  have  been  a  splendid  property  for  a 

bandit  chief;  the  four  gay,  reckless,  idle  sons  of ,  famous 

at  any  spree,  but  incapable  of  the  least  mental  or  physical  ex- 
ertion, who  considered  hunting  and  fishing  as  the  sole  aim  and 
object  of  life.  These  young  men  rendered  very  little  assist- 
ance themselves,  and  their  example  deterred  others  who  were 
inclined  to  work. 


■I 


i 


♦iO 


hoiiiiiLW  IT  /.v  TffF.  nrsH. 


ITiere  were  the  two  U s,  who  came  to  work  and  to-^ 

make  others  work ;  my  good  brother-in-law,  who  had  vohm*  ^ 
teered  to  be  the  Grog  Bos^  and  a  host  of  other  settlers,  among 
whom  I  recognized  Moodie's  old  acquaintance,  Dan  Simpson, 
with  his  lank  red  hair  and  long  freckled  face  :  the  Youngs,  the 
hunters,  with  their  round,  black,  curly  heads  and  ricn  Irish 

brogue  •,  poor  C ,  with  his  long,  sp'"e,  consumptive  figure, 

and  thin,  sickly  face.  Poor  fePow,  iic  has  long  since  been 
gathered  to  his  rest ! 

There  was  the  ruffian  quatter  P ,  from  Clear  Lake, — 

the  dread  of  all  honest  men  ;  the  brutal  M ,  who  treatevi 

oxen  as  if  they  had  been  logs,  by  beating  them  with  hand- 
spikes ;  and  there  was  Old  Wittals,  with  his  low  fore- 
head and  long  nose,  a  living  witness  of  the  truth  of  phrenology, 
if  his  large  organ  of  acquisitiveness  and  his  want  of  conscien- 
tiousness could  be  taken  in  evidence.  Yet  in  spite  of  his  dere- 
lictions from  honesty,  he  was  a  hard-working,  good-natured 
man,  who,  if  he  cheated  you  in  a  bargain,  or  took  away  some 
useful  article  in  mistake  from  your  homestead,  never  wronged 
his  employer  in  his  day's  work. 

He  was  a  curious  sample  of  cunning  and  simplicity — quite 
a  character  in  his  way — and  the  largest  eater  I  ever  chanced 
to  know.  From  this  ravenous  propensity,  for  he  eat  his  food 
like  a  famished  woll^  he  had  obtained  the  singular  name  of 
"Wittals."  Duiing  the  first  year  of  his  settlement  in  the 
bush,  with  a  very  large  ^amily  to  provide  for,  he  had  been 
o  len  in  want  of  food.  One  day  he  came  to  my  brother,  with 
a  very  long  face. 

"  'Fore  God !  Mr.  S ,  I'm  no  beggar,  but  I'd  be  obliged 

to  you  for  a  loaf  of  bread.  I  declare  to  you  on  my  honour 
that  I  have  not  had  a  bit  of  wittals  to  dewour  for  two  whole 
days." 

He  came  to  the  right  person  with  his  petition.     Mr.  S 


OUR  LOOGINO-BEE. 


01 


with  a  liberal  land  relieved  his  wants,  but  he  entailed  upon 
him  the  name  of  "  Old  Wittals,"  as  part  payment.  His 
daughter,  who  was  a  very  pretty  girl,  had  stolen  a  march  upon 
him  into  the  wuod,  with  a  lad  whom  he  by  no  means  regarded 
with  a  favourable  eye.  When  she  returned,  the  old  man  con 
fronted  her  and  fter  lover  with  this  threat,  which  I  suppose 
he  conside.  i  "  the  most  awful"  punishment  that  he  could 
devise. 

"  March  into  the  house.  Madam  'Ria  (Maria) ;  and  if  ever 
I  catch  you  with  that  scamp  again,  I'll  tie  you  up  to  a  stump 
all  day,  and  give  you  no  wittals." 

I  was  greatly  amused  by  overhearing  a  dialogue  between 
Old  Wittals  and  one  of  his  youngest  sons,  a  sharp,  Yankeefied- 
looking  boy,  wno  had  lost  one  of  his  eyes,  but  the  remaining 
orb  looked  as  if  it  could  sec  all  ways  at  once. 

"  I  say,  Sol,  how  came  you  to  tell  that  tarnation  tearing 

lie  to  Mr.  S yesterday?     Didn't  you  expect  tha    you'd 

catch  a  good  wallopping  for  the  like  of  thaf?     Lying  may  be 
excusable  in  a  man,  but  'tis  a  terrible  bad  habit  in  a  boy." 

"  Lor',  father,  that  worn't  a  lie.     I  told  Mr.  S .  our 

cow  worn't  in  his  peas.     Nor  more  she  wor :  she  was  in  his 
wheat." 

"  But  she  was  in  the  peas  all  night,  boy." 

"  That  wor  nothing  io  me  ;  she  worn't  in  just  then  Sure 
I  won't  get  a  licking  for  that  V 

"  No,  no,  you  are  a  good  boy  ;  but  mind  what  1  tell  you, 
and  don't  bring  me  into  a  scrape  with  any  of  your  real  lies." 

Prevarication,  the  worst  of  falsehoods,  was  a  virtue  in  his 
eyes.     So  much  for  the  old  man's  morality. 

Monaghan  was  in  his  glory,  prepared  to  work  or  fight, 
whichever  should  come  uppermost ;  and  there  was  old 
Thomas  and  his  sons,  the  contractors  for  the  clearing-,  tj 
expedite  whose  niuvements  the  bee  was  called.     01<^  Ihtt^'^ 


09 


ROUGHINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSIL 


was  a  very  ambitious  man  in  his  way.  Though  he  did  not 
know  A  from  B,  he  took  't  into  his  head  that  he  had  received 
H  call  from  Heaven  to  cciivert  the  heathen  in  the  wilderness  ; 
and  every  Sunday  he  held  a  meeting  in  our  logger's  shanty, 
for  the  purpose  of  awakening  sinners,  and  bringin  jj  over 
•'  hijun  pagans"  to  the  true  faith.  His  method  of  accoi.iplish- 
mg  this  object  was  very  ingenious.  He  got  his  wife,  Peggy 
— or  "  my  Paggy,"  as  he  called  her — to  read  aloud  for  him  a 
text  from  the  Bible,  until  he  knew  it  by  heart ;  and  he  had, 
as  he  said  truly,  "  a  good  remembrancer,"  and  never  heard  a 
striking  sermon  but  he  retained  the  most  important  passages, 
and  retailed  them  secondhand  to  his  bush  audience. 

1  must  say  that  I  was  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  old  man's 
elo(pience  when  I  went  one  Sunday  over  to  the  shanty  to  hear 
him  preach.  Several  wild  young  fellows  had  come  on  purpose 
to  make  fun  of  him ;  but  his  discourse,  which  was  upon  the 
text,  "  We  shall  all  meet  before  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ," 
was  rather  too  serious  a  subject  to  tui'u  into  a  jest,  with  even 
old  Thomas  for  the  preacher.  All  went  on  very  well  until 
the  old  man  gave  out  a  hymn,  and  led  off  in  such  a  loud,  dis- 
cordant voice,  that  my  little  Katie,  who  was  standing  between 
her  father's  knees,  looked  suddenly  up,  and  said,  "Mamma, 
what  a  noise  old  Thomas  makes !"  This  remark  led  to  a 
much  greater  noise,  and  the  young  men,  unable  to  restrain 
their  long-suppressed  laughter,  ran  tumultuously  from  the 
shanty.  1  could  have  whipped  the  little  elf;  but  small  blame 
could  be  attached  to  a  child  of  two  years  old,  who  had  never 
heard  a  preacher,  especially  such  a  preacher  as  the  old  back 
woodsman,  in  her  life.  Poor  man !  he  was  perfectly  uncon- 
scious of  the  cause  of  the  disturbance,  and  remarked  to  us, 
after  the  service  was  over, 

"  Well,  ma'am,  did  not  we  get  on  famously  ?     Now,  wom't 
that  a  hooti/iil  discourse  ?" 


OUR  LOUlim-UKK. 


03 


**  It  wa.s,  indeed  ;  much  better  than  I  expected." 

*'  Yes,  yes  ;  I  knew  it  would  please  you.  It  luid  quite  an 
effect  on  those  wild  fellows.  A  few  more  such  sermons  will 
teach  them  good  behavicjur.  Ah  !  the  bush  is  a  bad  place  for 
young  men.  The  farther  in  th(i  bush,  say  I,  the  farther  from 
God,  and  the  nearer  to  hell.  I  told  that  wicked  Captain  I  ■  - 
of  Dunmier  so  the  other  Sunday  ;  '  an','  s^iys  he, '  5f  you  don't 
hold  your  confounded  jaw,  you  old  fool,  I'll  kick  you  there.' 
Now,  ma'am,  now,  sir,  was  not  that  bad  manners  in  a  gentle- 
man,  to  use  such  appropriate  tpita2)lis  to  a  humble  servant  of 
God,  like  1 1" 

And  thus  the  old  man  ran  on  for  an  hour,  dilating  upon 
his  own  merits  and  the  sins  of  his  neighbours. 

ITiere  was  John  II ,  from  Smith-town,  the  most  noto- 
rious swearer  in  the  district ;  a  man  who  esteemed  himself 
clever,  nor  did  he  want  for  natural  talent,  but  he  had  con- 
verted his  mouth  into  such  a  sink  of  iniquity  that  it  corrupted 
the  whole  man,  and  all  the  weak  anfl  thoughtless  of  his  own 
sex  who  admitted  him  into  their  company.  I  had  tried  to 
convince  John  R — —  (for  he  often  frequented  the  house 
under  the  pretence  of  borrowing  books)  of  the  great  crime 
that  he  was  constantly  committing,  and  of  the  injurious  effect 
it  must  produce  upon  his  own  family,  but  the  mental  disease 
had  taken  too  deep  a  root  to  be  so  easily  cured.  Like  a 
person  labouring  under  some  foul  disease,  he  contaminated  all 
he  touched.  Such  men  seem  to  make  an  ambitious  display 
of  their  bad  habits  iii  such  scenes,  and  if  they  afford  a  little 
help,  they  are  sure  to  get  intoxicated  and  make  a  row.  There 
was  my  friend,  old  Ned  Dunn,  who  had  been  so  anxious  to 
get  us  out  of  the  burning  fallow.  There  was  a  whole  group 
of  Dummer  Pines  :  Levi,  the  little  wiry,  witty  poacher ;  Cor- 
nish Bill,  the  honest-hearted  old  peasant,  with  his  stalwart 
figure  and  uncouth  dialect;  and  David,  and  Ned-'-all  good 


, 


■[ 


«)4 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BU6H 


men  and  true;  and  Malachi  Chroak,  a  queer,  withered-upj 
monkey-man,  that  seemed  like  some  mischievous  elf,  flitting 
from  heap  to  heap  to  make  work  and  fun  for  the  rest ;  and 
many  others  were  at  that  bee  who  have  since  found  a  rest  in 

the  wilderness:  Adam  T ,  H ,  J.  M ,  H.  N 

ITiese,  at  different  times,  lost  their  lives  in  those  bright  waters 
in  which,  on  such  occasions  as  these,  they  used  to  sport  and 
frolic  to  refresh  themselves  during  the  noonday  heat.  Alas ! 
how  many,  who  were  then  young  and  in  their  prime,  that  river 
and  its  lakes  have  swept  away ! 

Our  men  worked  well  until  dinner-time,  when,  after  wash- 
ing in  the  lake,  they  all  sat  down  to  the  rude  board  which  I 
had  prepared  for  them,  loaded  with  the  best  fare  that  could 
be  procured  in  the  bush.  Pea-soup,  legs  of  pork,  venison, 
eel,  and  raspberry  pies,  garnished  with  plenty  of  potatoes, 
and  whiskey  to  wash  them  down,  besides  a  large  iron  kettle 
of  tea.  To  pour  out  the  latter,  and  dispense  it  round,  de- 
volved upon  me.  My  lorother  and  his  friends,  who  were  all 
temperance  men,  and  consequently  the  best  workers  in  the 
field,  kept  me  and  the  maid  actively  employed  in  replenishing 
their  cups. 

The  dinner  passed  ofl'  tolerably  well ;  some  of  the  lower 
order  of  the  Irish  settlers  were  pretty  far  gone,  but  they  com- 
mitted no  outrage  upon  our  feelings  by  either  swearing  or  bad 
language,  a  few  harmless  jokes  alone  circulating  among  them. 

Some  one  was  funning  Old  Wittals  for  having  eaten  seven 

large  cabbages  at  Mr.  T 's  bee,  a  few  days  previous.     His 

son,  Sol,  thought  himself,  as  in  duty  bound,  to  take  up  the 
cudgel  for  his  father. 

"  Now,  I  guess  that's  a  lie,  anyhow.  Fayther  ^vas  sick 
that  day,  and  I  tell  you  he  only  ate  five." 

This  announcement  was  followed  by  such  an  explosion  of 
mirth  that  the  bov  looked  fiercely  round  him,  as  if  he  could 


OUR  LOGO  I  NO  BEE. 


05 


f ' 


.K'ai'cely  V)elieve  the  fact  that  the  whole  party  woiv  hiughiii^ 
at  him. 

Malachi  Chroak,  who  was  good-naturedly  drunk,  had  dis- 
covered an  old  pair  of  cracked  .bellows  in  a  corner,  which  he 
placed  under  his  arm,  and  applying  his  mouth  to  the  pipC; 
and  working  his  elbows  to  and  fro,  pretended  that  he  was 
playing  upon  the  bagpipes,  every  now  and  then  letting  the 
wind  escape  in  a  shrill  squeak  from  this  novel  instrument. 

"  Arrah,  ladies  and  jintlemen,  do  jist  turn  your  swatc  little 
eyes  upon  me  whilst  I  play  for  your  iddifications  the  last  illi- 
gant  tune  which  my  owld  grandmother  taught  me.  Och  hone  ! 
'tis  a  thousand  pities  that  such  musical  owld  crathurs  should  be 
sufl'ered  to  die,  at  all  at  all,  to  be  poked  away  into  a  dirthy, 
dark  hole,  when  their  canthles  shud  be  burn  in'  a-top  of  '\ 
bushel,  givin'  light  to  the  house.  An'  then  it  is  she  that  was 
the  illigant  dancer,  stepping  out  so  lively  and  frisky,  just  so." 

And  here  he  minced  to  and  fro,  affecting  the  airs  of  a  fine 
lady.  The  supposititious  bagpipe  gave  an  uncertain,  ominous 
howl,  and  he  flung  it  down,  and  started  back  with  a  ludicrous 
expression  of  alarm. 

"  Alive,  is  it  ye  are?     Ye  croaking  owld  divil,  is  that  th« 
tr.ne  you  taught  your  son  ? 

**  Och  !  my  owld  f,'ranny  tnught  me,  bnt  now  she  is  dead, 
That  a  dhrop  of  nate  wliiakey  is  {^ood  for  the  head ; 
It  would  make  a  man  spake  when  jist  ready  to  dhie, 
If  you  doubt  it — my  boys  ! — I'd  advise  you  to  thry. 

"Och  !  my  owld  granny  sleeps  with  her  head  on  a  stone,— 
'Now,  Malach,  don't  tlirouble  the  gals  when  I'm  gone!' 
I  thried  to  obey  her;  but,  och,  I  am  sliure, 
There's  no  sorrow  on  earth  that  the  angels  can't  cure. 

"Och  I  I  took  her  advic«i — I'm  a  bachelor  still ; 
And  I  dance,  and  I  play,  with  kucIi  excellent  skill, 

( Taking  vp  the  belhics,  and  beginning  tv  danc4,) 
That  the  dear  little  crathura  are  striving  in  vain 
Which  first  shall  my  hand  or  my  fortin'  obtain." 


m 


ROUOHINQ  IT  IN   THE  BUSH. 


"  Malach !''  shouted  a  laughing  group.  "  Ho%\  was  it  ihut 
the  old  lady  taught  you  to  go  a-courting  T 

"Arrah,  that's  a  sacret!  I  don't  let  out  owld  granny^g 
sacrcts,"  said  Malachi,  gracefully  waving  his  head  to  and  fro 
to  tlie  squeaking  of  the  bellows ;  then,  suddenly  tossing  back 
the  long,  dangling,  black  elf-locks  that  curled  down  the  sides 
of  his  lank,  yellow  cheeks,  and  winking  knowingly  with  his 
comical  little  deep-seated  black  eyes,  he  burst  out  again — 

**  "Wid  the  blarney  I'd  win  tlio  most  dainty  proud  dame, 
No  gal  can  rci«ist  the  soft  sound  of  that  same ; 
Wid  the  bhirney,  my  boys — if  you  doubt  it,  go  thry — 
But  hand  here  the  bottle,  my  whistle  ia  dhry." 


The  men  went  back  to  the  field,  leaving  Malachi  to  amuse 
those  who  remained  in  the  house ;  and  Wvj  certainly  did  laugh 
our  fill  at  his  odd  capers  and  conceits. 

Then  he  would  insist  upon  marrying  our  maid.  Ther« 
could  be  no  refusal — have  her  he  would.  The  girl,  to  keep 
him  quiet,  laughingly  promised  that  she  would  take  him  for 
her  husband.  This  did  not  satisfy  him.  She  must  take  her 
oath  upon  the  Bible  to  that  effect.  Mary  pretended  that 
there  was  no  bible  in  the  house,  but  he  found  an  old  spelling- 
book  upon  a  shelf  in  the  kitchen,  and  upon  it  he  made  her 
swear,  and  called  upon  me  to  bear  witness  to  Iier  oath,  that 
she  was  now  his  betrothed,  and  he  would  go  next  day  with 
her  to  the  "  praist.  '  Poor  ]\Iary  had  reason  to  repent  her 
frolic,  for  he  stuck  close  to  her  the  whole  evening,  tormenting 
her  to  fulfil  her  contract.  After  the  sun  went  down,  the  log- 
gmg-band  came  in  to  supper,  which  was  all  ready  for  them. 
Those  who  remained  sober  ate  the  meal  in  peace,  and  quietly 
returned  to  their  own  homes;  while  the  vicious  and  the 
drunken  staid  to  brawl  and  fight. 

After  having  placed  the  supper  on  the  table,  I  was  so  tired 


OUR   LOGGING-BEE. 


CT 


with  the  noise,  and  heat,  and  fatigue  of  the  day,  that  I  went 
to  bed,  leaving  to  Mary  and  my  husband  the  care  of  the 
guests. 

f  We  were  obliged  to  endure  a  second  and  a  tliird  repetition 
of  this  odious  scene,  before  sixteen  acres  of  land  were  rendered 
fit  for  the  reception  of  our  tall  crop  of  wheat. 

My  hatred  to  these  tumultuous,  disorderly  meetings  was 
not  in  the  least  decreased  by  my  husband  being  twice  seriously 
hurt  while  attending  them.  After  the  second  injury  he  re- 
ceived, he  seldom  went  to  them  himself,  but  sent  his  oxen  and 
servant  in  his  place.  In  these  odious  gatherings,  the  sober, 
moral,  and  industrious  man  is  more  likely  to  sufler  than  the 
drunken  and  profane,  as  during  the  delirium  of  drink  these 
men  expose  others  to  danger  as  well  as  themselves. 

The  conduct  of  many  x.1  the  settlers,  who  considered  them- 
selves  gentlemen,  and  would  have  been  very  much  affronted 
to  have  been  called  otherwise,  was  often  more  rej^rghen^ible 
than  that  of  thejioor  Irish  emigrants,  to  whom  they  should 
have  set  an  example  of  order  and  sobriety.  The  behaviour 
of  these  young  men  drew  upon  them  the  severe  but  just  cen- 
sures of  the  poorer  class,  whom  they  regarded  in  every  way 
as  their  inferiors, 

"  That  blackguard  calls  himself  a  gentleman.  In  what 
respect  is  he  better  than  us  ?"  was  an  observation  too  fre- 
quently made  use  of  at  these  gatherings.  To  see  a  bad  man 
in  the  very  worst  point  of  view,  follow  him  to  a  bee  ;  be  he 
profane,  licentious,  quarrelsome,  or  a  rogue,  all  his  native 
wickedness  will  be  fully  developed  there. 

Just  after  the  last  of  these  logging-bees,  we  had  to  part 
tvith  our  good  servant  jMary,  and  just  at  a  time  when  it  was 
.he  heaviest  loss  to  me.     Iler  father,  who  had  been  a  dairy- 
man in  the  north  of  Ireland,  an  honest,  industrious  man,  had 
brought  out  upwards  of  one  hundred  pounds  to  this  country 


I 


•I' 


II 


68 


RuUic^HlNG  IT  IN  THK  Bi'SH. 


\ 


With  more  wisdom  than  is  generally  exercised  by  Irish  eml 
grants,  instead  of  sinking  all  his  means  in  buying  a  bush  farm 
he  hired  a  very  good  farm  in  Cavan,  stocked  it  with  cattle,  an<i 
returned  to  his  old  avocation.  The  services  of  his  daughter, 
who  was  an  excellent  dairymaid,  were  required  to  take  the 
management  of  the  cows  ;  and  her  brother  brought  a  wagon 
and  horses  all  the  way  from  the  front  to  take  her  home. 

This  event  was  perfectly  unexpected,  and  left  me  without 
a  moment's  notice  to  provide  myself  with  another  servant,  a< 
a  time  when  servants  were  not  to  b«  had,  and  I  was  perfectly 
unable  to  do  the  least  thing.  My  little  Addie  was  sick  almost 
to  death  with  the  summer  complaint,  and  the  eldest  still  too 
young  to  take  care  of  herself. 

This  was  but  the  beginning  of  trouble. 

Ague  and  lake  fever  had  attacked  our  new  settlement 
The  rnen  In  tlie  shanty  were  all  down  with  it ;  and  my 
husband  was  confined  to  his  bed  on  each  alternate  day,  unable 
to  raise  hand  or  foot,  and  raving  in  the  delirium  of  the  fever. 

In  my  sister  and  brother's  families,  scarcely  a  healthy  per- 
son remained  to  attend  upon  the  sick ;  and  at  Herriot's  Falls, 
nine  persons  were  stretched  upon  the  floor  of  one  log  cabin, 
unable  to  help  themselves  or  one  another.  After  much  d'ffi- 
culty,  and  only  by  offering  enormous  wages,  I  succeeded  in 
procuring  a  nurse  to  attend  upon  me  during  my  confinement. 
The  woman  had  not  been  a  day  in  the  house  before  she  was 
attacked  by  the  same  fever.  In  the  midst  of  this  confusion, 
and  with  my  precious  little  Addie  lying  insensible  on  p  niliow 
at  the  foot  of  my  bed — expected  every  moment  to  brja'ht"; 
her  last  sigh, — on  the  night  of  the  20th  of  August,  the  bnv  ' 
had  so  ardently  coveted  was  born.  The  next  day,  Old  Pine 
carried  his  wife  (my  nurse)  away  upon  his  back,  and  I  was 
left  to  struggle  through,  in  the  best  manner  I  could,  with  a 
sick  husband,  a  sick  child,  and  a  new-born  babe. 


^9}\ 


OUR  LOGGING-BEE. 


69 


It  was  a  melancholy  season,  one  of  severe  mental  and 
bodily  suffering.  Those  who  have  drawn  such  agreeable  pic- 
tures of  a  residence  in  the  backwoods  never  dwell  upon  the 
periods  of  sickness,  when,  far  from  medical  advice,  and  often, 
as  in  my  case,  deprived  of  the  assistance  of  friends  by  ad- 
verse circumstances,  you  are  left  to  languish,  unattended,  upon 
the  couch  of  pain.  The  day  that  my  husband  was  free  of  the 
fit,  he  did  what  he  could  for  me  and  his  poor  sick  babes,  but, 
ill  as  he  was,  he  was  obliged  to  sow  the  wheat  to  enable  the 
man  to  proceed  with  the  drag,  and  was  therefore  necessarily 
absent  in  the  field  the  greater  part  of  the  day. 

I  was  very  ill,  yet  for  hours  at  a  time  I  had  no  friendly 
voice  to  cheer  me,  to  proffer  me  a  drink  <jf  cold  water,  or  to 
attend  to  the  poor  babe ;  and  worse,  still  worse,  there  was  no 
one  to  help  that  pale,  marble  child,  who  lay  so  cold  and  still, 
with  half-closed  violet  eye,  as  if  death  had  already  chilled  her 
young  heart  in  his  iron  grasp. 

There  was  not  a  breath  of  air  in  our  close,  burning  bed- 
closet  ;  and  the  weather  was  sultry  beyond  all  that  I  have 
since  experienced.  How  I  wished  that  I  could  be  transported 
to  an  hospital  at  home,  to  enjoy  the  common  care  that  in  such 
places  is  bestowed  upon  the  sick  !  Bitter  tears  flowed  con- 
tinually from  my  eyes  over  those  young  children.  I  had 
asked  of  Heaven  a  son,  and  there  he  lay  helpless  by  the  side 
of  his  almost  e(|ually  helpless  mother,  who  could  not  lift  him 
up  in  her  arms,  or  still  his  cries  ;  while  the  pale,  fair  angel, 
with  her  golden  curls,  who  had  lately  been  the  admiration  of 
all  who  saw  her,  no  longer  recognized  my  voice,  or  was  con- 
scious of  my  presence.  I  felt  that  I  could  almost  resign  the 
long  and  eagerly  hoped-for  son,  to  win  one  more  smile  from 
that  sweet,  suffering  creature.  Often  did  I  weep  myself  to 
Bleej),  and  wake  to  weep  again  with  renewed  anguish. 

And  my  poor  little  Katie,  herself  under  three  years  cf.ige, 


1^ 


70 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


how  patiently  she  bore  the  loss  of  my  care,  and  every  com 
fort !     IIow  earnestly  the  dear  thing  strove  to  help  me  !     She 
would  sit  on  my  sick-bed,  and  hold  my  hand,  and  ask  me  to 
look  at  her  and  speak  to  her ;  would  inquire  why  Addie  slept 
so  long,  and  when  she  would  awake  again.     Those  innocent 

questions  went  like  arrows  to  my  heart.     Lieutenant , 

the  husband  of  my  dear  Emilia,  at  length  heard  of  my  situa- 
tion. Ills  inestimable  wife  was  from  home,  nursing  her  sick 
mother;  but  he  sent  his  maid-servant  up  every  day  for  a 
couple  of  hours,  and  the  kind  girl  despatched  a  messenger 
nine  miles  through  the  woods  to  Dummer,  to  fetch  her 
younger  sister,  a  child  of  twelve  years  old. 

Oh,  how  grateful  I  felt  for  these  signal  mercies !  for  my 
situation  for  nearly  a  week  was  one  of  the  most  pitiable  that 
could  be  imagined.  The  sickness  was  so  prevalent  that  help 
was  not  to  be  obtained  for  monev ;  and  without  the  assist- 
ancc  of  that  little  girl,  young  as  sVie  was,  it  is  more  than  prob- 
able that  neither  mvself  nor  mv  children  would  ever  have 
risen  from  that  bed  of  sickness. 

The  conduct  of  our  man  Jacob,  during  this  trying  period, 
was  marked  with  the  greatest  kindness  and  consideration. 
On  the  days  that  his  master  was  confined  to  his  bed  with  the 
fever,  he  used  to  place  a  vessel  of  cold  water  and  a  cup  by 
his  bedside,  and  then  put  his  honest  English  face  in  at  my 
door  to  know  if  he  could  make  a  cup  of  tea,  or  toast  a  bit  of 
bread  for  the  mistress,  before  he  went  into  the  field. 

Katie  was  indebted  to  him  for  all  her  meals.  He  baked, 
and  cooked,  and  churned,  mil!;ed  the  cows,  and  made  up  the 
butter,  as  well  and  as  carefully  as  the  best  female  servant 
could  have  done.  As  to  poor  John  Monaghan,  he  was  down 
with  the  fever  in  the  shanty,  where  four  other  men  were  all  ill 
«rith  the  same  terrible  complaint. 

I  was  obliged  to  leavp  my  bed  and  endeavour  to  attend  to 


w 


OCR  LOGGING-BE'S. 


75 


the  wants  of  my  young  family  long  oefore  I  was  really  able. 
When  I  made  my  first  attempt  to  reach  the  parlour  I  was  sc 
weak,  that,  at  every  stop,  1  felt  as  if  I  should  pitch  forward  to 
tlie  ground,  which  seemed  to  undulate  beneath  my  feet  like 
the  floor  of  a  cabin  in  a  storm  at  sea.  My  husband  continued 
to  suffer  for  many  weeks  with  the  ague ;  and  when  he  was 
convalescent,  all  the  children,  even  the  poor  babe,  were  seized 
with  it;  nor  did  it  leave  us  until  late  in  the  spring  of  1835. 


«-,« 


7*i 


HOUQIUNO   IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


\ 


^ 


CHAPTER    V. 


k     TRIP     TO     STONY     LAKS 


MY  husband  had  long  promised  me  a  trip  to  Stony  Lake, 
and  in  the  summer  of  1835,  before  the  harvest  com 

menced,  he  gave  Mr.  Y ,  who  kept  the  mill  at  the  rapids 

below  Clear  Lake,  notice  of  our  intention,  and  the  worthy  old 
man  and  his  family  made  due  preparation  for  our  reception. 
The  little  girls  were  to  accompany  us. 

We  were  to  start  at  sunrise,  to  avoid  the  heat  of  the  day, 

to  go  up  as  far  as  Mr.  Y 's  in  our  canoe,  re-embark  with 

his  sons  above  the  rapids  in  birch-bark  canoes,  go  as  far  up 
the  lake  as  we  could  accomplish  by  daylight,  and  return  at 
night ;  the  weather  being  very  warm,  and  the  moon  at  full. 
Before  six  o'clock  we  were  all  seated  in  the  little  craft,  which 
spread  her  white  sail  to  a  foaming  breeze,  and  sped  merrily 
over  the  blue  waters.  The  lake  on  which  our  clearing  stood 
was  about  a  mile  and  a  half  in  length,  and  about  three  quar- 
ters of  a  mile  in  breadth  ;  a  mere  pond,  when  comi)ared  with 
[he  Bay  of  Quinte,  Ontario,  and  the  inland  seas  (if  Canada. 
But  it  was  our  lake,  and,  consequently,  it  had  ten  thousand 
beauties  in  our  eyes,  w^hich  would  scarcely  have  attracted  the 
observation  of  a  stranger. 

At  the  head  of  the  Kutchawanook,  the  lake  is  divided  by 
a  long  neck  of  land,  that  forms  a  small  bay  on  the  right-hand 
side,  and  a  very  brisk  rapid  on  the  left.  The  banks  are  formed 
of  large  massea  of  Hmestonp  ;  anu  the  cardinal-flower  and  the 


A    mil'   '/v..  STUSY   LAKE. 


78 


tiger-lily  seem  to  have  taken  an  especial  fancy  to  this  spot, 
and  to  vie  with  each  other  in  the  display  of  their  gorgeous 
colours. 

It  is  an  excellent  place  for  fishing ;  the  water  is  very  deep 
close  to  the  rocky  pavement  that  forms  the  bank,  and  it  has  a 
pebbly  bottom.  Many  a  magic  hour,  at  rosy  dawn,  or  even- 
mg  gray,  have  I  spent  with  my  husband  on  this  romantic 
spot ;  our  canoe  fastened  to  a  bush,  and  ourselves  intent  upon 
ensnaring  the  black  bass,  a  fish  of  excellent  flavour  that 
abounds  in  this  place. 

Our  paddles  soon  carried  us  past  the  narrows,  and  through 
the  rapid  water,  the  children  sitting  quietly  at  the  bottom  of 
the  boat,  enchanted  with  all  they  heard  and  saw,  begging  papa 
to  stop  and  gather  water-lilies,  or  to  catch  one  of  the  splendid 
butterflies  that  hovered  over  us ;  and  often  the  little  Addie 
darted  her  white  hand  into  the  water  to  grasp  at  the  shadow 
of  the  gorgeous  insects  as  they  skimmed  along  the  waves. 

After  passing  the  rapids,  the  river  widened  into  another 
small  lake,  perfectly  round  in  form,  and  having  in  its  centre  a 
tiny  'jreen  island,  in  the  midst  of  which  stood,  like  a  shattered 
monument  of  bygone  storms,  one  blasted,  black  ash-tree. 

The  Indians  call  this  lake  Bessikdkoon,  but  I  do  not  know 
the  exact  meaning  oi'  the  word.  Some  say  that  it  means  "  the 
Indian's  grave ;"  others,  "  the  lake  of  the  one  island."  It  is 
certain  that  an  Indian  girl  is  buried  beneath  that  blighted 
tree  ;  but  I  never  ^-ould  learn  the  particulars  of  her  story,  and 
perhaps  there  was  no  tale  c/>nnected  with  it.  She  might  have 
fellen  a  ^nctin:  to  disease  during  the  wanderings  of  her  tribe, 
and  been  buried  on  that  spot ;  or  she  might  have  been 
drowned,  which  would  account  for  her  having  been  buried 
ftway  from  the  rest  of  her  people. 

Tliis  little  lake  lies  in  the  heart  of  the  wilderness.  There 
is  but  one  clearing  upon  its  shores,  and  that  had  been  made 

VOL.  II.  4 


I 


I: 


^■i' 


T 


74 


HOUGHING   IT  L\   THE  BUSH. 


by  lumberers  many  years  befora  ;  the  place  abounded  with 
red  cedar.  A  second  frrowth  of  young  timber  had  grown  up 
in  this  spot,  Nvhieh  was  covered  also  with  ras[)berry  bushes- 
several  hundred  acres  l)eiiig  entirely  overgrown  with  this  do. 
licious  berry. 

It  was  here  ainuially  that  we  used  to  come  in  large  picnic 
parties,  to  collect  this  valuable  fruit  for  our  winter  preserves, 
In  defiance  of  black-dies,  moscjuitcK's,  snakes,  and  even  bears ; 
all  which  have  been  encountered  by  berry-pickers  upon  this 
spot,  as  busy  and  as  active  as  themselves,  gathering  an  ample 
repast  from  Nature's  bounteous  lap. 

And,  oh !  what  beautiful  wild  shrubs  and  flowers  grew  up 
in  that  neglected  spot !  Some  of  the  happiest  hours  I  spent 
in  the  bush  are  connected  with  reminiscences  of  "  Irving'a 
shanty,"  for  so  the  raspberiy-grounds  were  called.  The  clear- 
ing could  not  be  seen  from  the  shore.  You  had  to  scramble 
through  a  cedar  swamp  to  reach  the  sloping  ground  which 
produced  the  berries. 

The  mill  at  the  Clear  Lake  rapids  was  about  three  miles 
distant  from  our  own  clearing ;  and  after  stemming  another 
rapid,  and  passing  bocween  two  beautiful  wooded  islands,  the 
canoe  rounded  a  point,  and  the  rude  structure  was  before  us. 

A  wilder  and  more  romantic  spot  than  that  which  the  old 
Hunter  had  chosen  for  his  homestead  in  the  wilderness  could 
scarcely  be  imagined.  The  waters  of  Clear  Lake  here  empty 
themselves  through  a  narrow,  deej),  rocky  channel,  not  exceed- 
ing a  quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  tumble  over  a  limestone 
fridge  of  ten  or  twelve  feet  ir  height,  which  extends  from  one 
bank  of  the  river  to  the  other.  The  shores  on  either  side  are 
very  steep,  and  the  large  oak-trees  which  have  anchored  their 
roots  in  every  crevice  of  the  rock,  throw  then*  fantastic  arms 
far  over  the  foaming  waterfall,  the  deep  green  of  their  massy 
foliage  forming  a  beautiful  contrast  with  the  white,  flashing 


MMM 


A   TRIP   TO  &TONY  LAKE. 


75 


waters  that  foam  over  the  shoot  at  least  fifty  feet  below  the 
brow  of  the  llmostoiie  rock.  By  a  flight  of  steps  cut  in  the 
banks  we  ascended  to  the  platform  above  the  river  on  which 
Mr.  Y 's  house  stojd. 

It  was  a  large,  rough-looking,  log  building,  surrounded  by 
barns  and  sheds  of  the  same  ])rimitive  nuiterial.  The  porch 
before  the  door  was  covered  with  h(jps,  and  the  room  of  gen- 
eral  resort,  into  which  it  immediately  opened,  was  cf  large 
dimensions,  the  huge  fire-place  foiniing  the  most  striking  fea- 
ture. On  the  hearth-stone,  hot  as  was  the  weather,  blazed  a 
great  fire,  encumbered  with  all  sorts  of  culinary  apparatus, 
which,  I  am  inclined  to  think,  had  been  called  into  requisition 
for  our  sole  benefit  and  accommodation. 

The  good  folks  had  breakfasted  long  before  we  started  from 
home,  but  they  would  not  hear  of  our  proceeding  to  Stouy 
Lake  until  after  we  had  dined.  It  was  only  eight  o'clock, 
A.  M.,  and  we  had  still  four  hours  to  dinner,  which  gave 
us  ample  leisure  to  listen  to  the  old  man's  stories,  ramble 
round  the  premises,  and  observe  all  the  striking  features  of 
the  place. 

Mr.  Y was  a  Catholic,  and  the  son  of  a  respectable 

farmer  from  the  south  of  Ireland.  Some  few  years  before,  he 
had  emigrated  with  a  large  fjimily  of  seven  sons  and  two 
daughters,  and  being  fond  of  field  sports,  and  greatly  taken 
with  the  beauty  of  the  locality  in  which  he  had  pitched  his 
tent  in  the  wilderness,  he  determined  to  raise  a  mili  jpon  the 
dam  which  Nature  had  provided  at  his  hands,  and  wait  pa- 
tiently until  the  increasing  immigration  should  settle  the  town- 
ship of  Smith  and  Douro,  render  the  property  valuable,  and 
bring  plenty  of  grist  to  the  mill.  lie  was  not  far  wrong  in  his 
calculations ;  and  though,  for  the  first  few  years,  he  subsisted 
entirely  by  hunting,  fishing,  and  raising  what  potatoes  and 
wheal  he  required  for  his  own  family,  on  the  most  fertile  spots 


*.>.^. 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


IttlM    125 


1.0      m 

u  lU   12.2 


I.I 


£   11°    12.0 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STREIT 

WfBSTIt,N.Y.  I4SM 

(716)«7a-4»03 


^ 


M 


7e 


RDUGHINQ  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


he  0^/jld  fii  d  on  his  barren  lot,  very  little  corn  passed  through 
the  milL 

At  the  t/me  we  visited  his  place,  he  was  driving  a  thriving 
trade,  and  all  the  wheat  that  was  grown  in  the  neighbourhood 

was  brought  by  water  to  be  ground  at  Y 's  mill.     He  had 

lost  his  wife  a  few  years  after  conimg  to  the  country  ;  but  his 
two  daughters,  Betty  and  Norah,  were  excellent  housewives, 
and  amply  supplied  her  loss.  From  these  amiable  women 
wf  received  a  most  kind  and  hearty  welcome,  and  every 
?jmfort  and  luxury  within  their  reach.  They  appeared  a 
most  happy  and  contented  family.  The  sons — a  fine,  hardy, 
mdependent  set  of  fellow^s — were  regarded  by  the  old  man 
with  pride  and  affection.  Many  were  his  anecdotes  of  their 
prowess  in  hunting  and  fishing.  His  method  of  giving  them 
an  aversion  to  strong  drink  while  very  young  amused  me 
greatly,  but  it  is  not  every  child  that  could  have  stood  the  test 
of  his  experiment. 

"  When  they  were  little  chaps,  from  five  to  six  years  of 
age,  I  made  them  very  drunk,"  he  said ;  "  so  drunk  that  it 
brought  on  severe  headache  and  sickness,  and  this  so  disgusted 
them  with  liquor,  that  they  never  could  abide  the  sight  of  it 
again.  I  have  only  one  drunkard  among  the  seven ;  and  he 
was  such  a  weak,  puling  crathur,  that  I  dared  not  play  the 
same  game  with  him,  lest  it  should  kill  him.  'Tis  his  nature, 
I  suppose,  and  he  can't  help  it ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  to  make 
up  for  the  sobriety  of  all  the  rest,  he  is  killing  himself  with 
drink." 

Norah  gave  us  an  account  of  her  catching  a  deer  that  had 
got  into  the  enclosure  the  day  before. 

"I  went  out,"  she  said,  "  early  in  the  morning,  to  milk  the 
cows,  and  I  saw  a  fine  young  buck  struggling  to  get  through 
a  pale  of  the  ience,  in  which  having  entangled  his  head  and 
horns,  I  knew,  by  the  desperate  efforts  he  was  making  to  push 


N 


i 


A  TRIP  TO  STONY  LaKE. 


71 


ftside  the  rails,  thai  if  I  was  not  quick  in  getting  hold  of  him, 
he  would  soon  be  gone." 

"And  did  you  dare  to  touch  him?" 

"  If  I  had  had  Mat's  gun  I  would  have  shot  him,  but  he 
would  have  made  his  escape  long  before  I  could  run  to  the 
house  for  that,  so  I  went  boldly  up  to  him  «nd  got  hin.  by  the 
hind  legs ;  and  though  he  kicked  and  struggled  dreadfully,  I 
held  on  till  Mat  heard  me  call,  and  ran  to  my  hel  p,  and  cut 
his  throat  with  his  hunting-knife.  So  you  see,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  a  good-natured  laugh,  "  I  can  beat  our  hunters 
hollow — they  hunt  the  deer,  but  I  can  catch  a  buck  with  my 
hands." 

While  we  were  chatting  away,  great  were  the  preparations 
making  by  Miss  Betty  and  a  very  handsome  American  woman, 
who  had  recently  come  thither  as  a  help.  One  little  bare- 
footed garsoon  was  shelling  peas  in  an  Indian  basket,  another 
was  stringing  currants  into  a  yellow  pie-dish,  and  a  third 
was  sent  to  the  rapids  with  his  rod  and  line,  to  procure  a  dish 
of  fresh  fish  to  add  to  the  long  list  of  bush  dainties  that  were 
preparing  for  our  dinner.  It  was  in  vain  that  I  begged  our 
kind  entertainers  not  to  put  themselves  to  the  least  trouble  on 
our  account,  telling  them  that  we  were  now  used  to  the  woods, 
and  contented  with  any  thing ;  they  were  determined  to  ex- 
haust all  their  stores  to  furnish  forth  the  entertainment.  Nor 
can  it  be  wondered  at,  that,  with  so  many  dishes  to  cook,  and 
pies  and  custards  to  bake,  instead  of  dining  a'u  twelve,  it  was 
past  two  o'clock  before  we  were  conducted  to  the  dinner-table. 
I  was  vexed  and  disappointed  at  the  delay,  as  I  wanted  to  see 
all  I  could  of  the  spot  we  were  about  to  visit  before  night 
and  darkness  compelled  us  to  return. 

Tlie  feast  was  spread  in  a  large  outhouse,  the  table  being 
formed  of  two  broad  deal  boards  laid  together,  and  supported 
by  rude  carpenter's  stools.     A  white  linen  cloth,  a  relic  of 


78 


ROUQHINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSIL 


better  days,  concealed  these  arrangements.     The  board  was 
covered  with  an  indesr.ribaMe  variety  of  roast  and  boiled,  of 
fish,  flesh,  and  fowl.     My  readers  should  see  a  table  laid  out 
in  a  wealthy  Canadian  farmer's  house  before  they  can  have 
any  idea  of  the  profusion  displayed  in  the  entertaiiinaent  of 
two  visitors  and  their  young  children.    Besides  venison,  pork, 
chickens,  ducks,  and  fish  of  several  kinds,  cooked  in  a  variety 
of  ways,  there  was  a  number  of  pumpkin,  raspberry,  cherry, 
and  cuiTant  pies,  with  fresh  butter  and  green  cheese  (as  the    ^ 
new  cream-cheese  is  called),  molasses,  preserves,  and  pickled 
cucumbers,  besides  tea  and  coffee — the  latter,  be  it  known,  I    ^ 
had  watched  the  American  woman  boiling  ir  \hQ  Jrying-pan.   ^^ 
It  was  a  black-looking  compound,  and  I  did  not  attempt  to^ 
I  discuss  its  merits.     The  vessel  in  which  it  had  been  prepared 
had  prejudiced  me,  and  rendered  me  very  skeptical  on  that 
score. 

We  were  all  very  hungry^  having  tasted  nothing  since  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  contrived,  out  of  the  variety  of 
good  things  before  us,  to  make  an  excellent  dinner. 

I  was  glad,  however,  when  we  rose  to  prosecute  our  in- 
tended trip  up  the  lake.  The  old  man,  whose  heart  was  now 
thoroughly  warmed  with  whiskey,  declared  that  he  meant  to 
make  one  of  the  party,  and  Betty,  too,  was  to  accompany  us ; 
her  sister  Norah  kindly  staying  behind  to  take  care  of  the 
children.  We  followed  a  path  along  the  top  of  the  high  ridge 
of  limestone  rock,  until  we  had  passed  the  falls  and  the  rapids 

above,  when  we  found  Pat  and  Mat  Y waiting  for  us  on 

the  shore   below,  in   two  beautiful  new  birch-bark  canoes, 
which  they  had  purchased  the  day  before  from  the  Indians. 

Miss  Betty,  Mat,  and  myself,  were  safely  stowed  into  one, 
while  the  old  miller  and  his  son  Pat,  and  my  hu&band,  em- 
barked in  the  other,  and  our  steersmen  pushed  off  into  the 
middle  of  the  deep  and  silent  stream ;  the  shadow  of  the  taU 


m 


m 


Ax 


A  miF  TO  rroyy  lake. 


79 


woods,  towering  so  many  feet  above  us,  casting  an  iniiy  hu« 
upon  the  waters.  The  scene  was  very  imposing,  and  after 
paddling  for  a  few  minuter  in  shade  and  silence,  we  suddenly 
emerged  into  light  and  sunshine,  and  Clear  Lake,  which  gets 
its  name  from  the  unrivalled  brightness  of  its  waters,  spread 
out  its  azure  mirror  before  us.  The  Indians  regard  this  sheet 
of  water  with  peculiar  reverence.  It  abounds  in  the  finest 
sorts  of  fish,  the  salmon-trout,  the  delicious  white  fish,  muske- 
nonge,  and  black  and  white  bass.  There  is  no  island  in  this 
lake,  no  rice  beds,  nor  stick  nor  stone,  to  break  its  tranquil 
beauty,  and,  at  the  time  we  visited  it,  there  was  but  one 
clearing  upon  its  shores. 

The  log  hut  of  the  squatter  P ,  commanding  a  beauti- 
ful prospect  up  and  down  the  lake,  stood  upon  a  bold  slope 
fronting  the  water;  all  the  rest  was  unbroken  forest.  "We 
had  proceeded  about  a  mile  on  our  pleasant  voyage,  when  our 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  singular  natural  phenomenon, 

which  Mat  Y called  the  battery.     On  the  right-hand  side 

of  the  shore  rose  a  oteep,  perpendicular  wall  of  limestone,  that 
had  the  appearance  of  having  been  laid  by  the  hand  of  man, 
so  smooth  and  even  was  its  surface.  After  attaining  a  height 
of  about  fifty  feet,  a  natural  platform  of  eight  or  ten  yards 
broke  the  perpendicular  line  of  the  rock,  when  another  wall, 
like  the  first,  rose  to  a  considerable  height,  terminating  in  a 
second  and  third  pUtform  of  the  same  description. 

Fire,  at  some  distant  period,  had  run  over  these  singularly 
beautiful  terraces,  and  a  second  growth  of  poplars  and  balm- 
of-gileads  relieved,  by  their  tender  green  and  light,  airy 
foilage,  the  sombre  indigo  tint  of  the  heavy  pines  that  nodded 
like  the  plumes  of  a  funeral-hoarse  over  the  fair  young  dwell- 
ers on  the  rock.  The  water  is  forty  feet  deep  at  the  base  of 
this  precipice,  which  is  washed  by  the  waves.  After  we  had 
passed  the  battery,  Mat  Y turned  to  me  and  said,  "  That 


ifjbMt' 


II 

I  m 


i/4 


80 


IWUGlJiyo  IT  IX  THE  BUSH. 


is  a  famous  place  for  bears ;  many  a  bear  have  I  shot  among 
those  rocks." 

This  led  to  a  long  discussion  on  the  wild  beasts  of  the 
country. 

**  I  do  not  think  that  there  is  much  danger  to  be  appr©- 
bended  from  them,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  once  had  an  ugly  adven 
;ure  with  a  wolf  two  winters  ago,  on  this  lake." 

I  was  all  curiosity  to  hear  the  story,  which  sounded  doubly 
interesting  told  on  the  very  spot,  and  while  gliding  over  those 
lovely  waters. 

"  We  were  lumbering  at  the  head  of  Stony  Lake,  about 
eight  miles  from  here,  my  four  brothers,  myself,  and  several 
other  hands.  The  winter  was  long  and  severe ;  although  it 
was  the  first  week  in  March,  there  was  not  the  least  appear- 
ance  of  a  thaw,  and  the  ice  on  these  lakes  was  as  firm  as 
ever.  I  had  been  sent  home  to  fetch  a  yoke  of  oxen  to  draw 
the  saw-logs  down  to  the  water,  our  chopping  being  all  com- 
pleted, and  the  logs  ready  for  rafting. 

"  I  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  encumber  myself  with  my 
rifle,  and  was,  therefore,  provided  with  no  weapon  of  defence 
but  the  long  gad  I  used  to  urge  on  the  cattle.  It  was  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  I  rounded  Sandy  Point, 
that  long  point  which  is  about  a  mile  ahead  of  us  on  the  left 
shore,  when  I  first  discovered  that  I  was  followed,  but  at  a 
great  distance,  by  a  large  wolf.  At  first,  I  thought  little  of 
the  circumstance,  beyond  a  passing  wish  that  I '  had  brought 
my  gun.  I  knew  that  he  would  not  attack  me  before  dark, 
and  it  was  still  two  long  hours  to  sundown ;  so  I  whistled, 
and  urged  on  my  oxen,  and  soon  forgot  the  wolf — when,  on 
stopping  to  repaii'  a  little  damage  to  the  peg  of  the  yoke,  I 
was  surprised  to  find  him  close  at  my  heels.  I  turned,  and 
ran  towards  him,  she  uting  as  loud  as  I  could,  when  he  slunk 
back,  but  showed  no   nclination  to  make  off*.     Knowing  that 


A   TRIP  TO  STONY  LA  KE. 


81 


he  must  have  companions  near,  by  his  boldness,  I  shouted  as 
loud  as  I  could,  hoping  that  my  cries  might  be  heard  by  my 
brothers,  who  would  imagine  that  the  oxen  had  got  into  the 
ice,  and  would  come  to  my  assistance.  I  was  now  winding 
my  way  through  the  islands  in  Stony  Lake ;  the  sun  was 
setiing  red  before  me,  and  I  had  still  three  miles  of  my  jour- 
ney to  accomplish.  The  wolf  had  become  so  impudent  that 
I  kepi  him  off  by  pelting  him  with  snowballs ;  and  once  he 
came  so  near  that  I  struck  him  with  the  gad.  I  now  began  to 
be  seriously  alarmed,  and  from  time  to  time  shouted  with  all 
my  strength  ;  and  you  may  imagine  my  joy  when  these  cries 
were  answered  by  the  report  of  a  gun.  My  brothers  had 
heard  me,  and  the  discharge  of  a  gun,  for  a  moment,  seemed 
to  daunt  the  wolf.  He  uttered  a  long  howl,  which  was 
answered  by  the  cries  of  a  large  pack  of  the  dirty  brutes 
from  the  wood.  It  was  only  just  light  enough  to  distinguish 
objects,  and  I  had  to  stop  and  face  my  enemy,  to  keep  him  at 
bay. 

"  I  saw  the  skeleton  forms  of  half-a-dozen  more  of  them 
slinking  among  the  bushes  that  skirted  a  low  island ;  and  tired 
and  cold,  I  gave  myself  and  the  oxen  up  for  lost,  when  I  felt 
the  ice  tremble  on  which  I  stood,  and  heard  men  running  at  a 
distance.  *  Fire  your  guns!'  I  cried  out,  as  loud  as  I  could. 
My  order  was  obeyed,  and  such  a  yelling  and  howling  imme- 
diately filled  the  whole  forest  as  would  have  chilled  your  very 
heart.  The  thievish  varmints  instantly  fled  away  into  the 
bush. 

"  I  never  felt  the  least  fear  of  wolves  until  that  night ;  but 
when  they  meet  in  large  bands,  like  cowardly  dogs,  they  trust 
to  their  numbers,  and  grow  fierce.  If  you  meet  with  one 
wolf,  you  may  be  certain  that  the  whole  pack  are  at  no  great 
distance." 

We  werf  fast  approaching  Sandy  I'oint,  a  long  w^iite  ri-lge 

VOL.  II  4* 


•ji* 


8'i 


BOUOUING  IT  IN  TUB  BUSH. 


i- 


H 


II .' 


hi  - 
y'-  ■' 


'!:. 


of  sand,  running  half  across  the  lake,  and  though  only  covsred 
with  scattered  groups  of  scrubby  trees  and  brush,  it  effect, 
ually  screened  Stony  Lake  from  our  view.  There  were  so 
many  b(.'autiful  flowers  peeping  through  the  dwarf,  green 
bushes^  that,  wishing  to  inspect  them  nearer.  Mat  kindly  ran 
the  canoe  asnore,  and  told  me  that  he  would  show  me  a  pretty 
spot,  where  an  Indian,  who  had  been  drowned  during  a  storm 
off  that  point,  was  buried.  I  immediately  recalled  the  story 
of  Susan  Moore's  father,  but  Mat  thought  that  he  was  interred 
upon  one  of  the  islands  farther  up. 

"  It  is  strange,"  he  said,  "  that  they  are  such  bad  swimmers. 
The  Indian,  though  unrivalled  by  us  whites  in  the  use  of  the 
paddle,  is  an  animal  that  does  not  take  readily  to  the  water, 
and  those  among  them  who  can  sw'm  seldom  use  it  as  a 
recreation." 

Pushing  our  way  through  the  bushes,  we  came  to  a  small 
opening  in  the  underwood,  so  thickly  grown  over  with  wild 
Canadian  roses  in  full  blossom,  that  the  air  was  impregnated 
with  a  delightful  odour.  In  the  centre  of  this  bed  of  sweets 
rose  the  humble  mound  that  protected  tb«  bones  of  the  red 
man  from  the  ravenous  jaws  of  the  wolf  and  the  wild-cat. 
It  was  completely  covered  with  stones,  and  from  among 
the  crevices  had  sprung  a  tuft  of  blue  harebells,  waving 
as  wild  and  free  as  if  they  grew  anionjx  th(  bonny  red  hea- 
ther on  the  glorious  hills  of  the  North,  or  shook  their  tiny 
bells  to  the  breeze  on  the  broom-encircled  commons  of 
England. 

The  harebell  had  always  from  a  child  been  with  me  a  fa- 
vourite flower ;  and  the  first  sight  of  it  in  Canada,  growing 
upon  that  lonely  grave,  so  flooded  my  soul  with  remembrances 
of  the  past,  that,  in  spite  of  myself,  the  tears  poured  freely 
from  my  eyes.  There  are  moments  when  it  is  impwrfMe  tc 
repress  those  outgiishings  of  the  heart— 


,  I 


A   TliW   TO  a  TO  NY  LAKE. 


"Those  flood-gates  of  iho  soul  that  sever, 
*  In  piission's  tide  to  part  for  ever." 

If  Mat  and  his  sister  wondered  at  my  tears,  they  must  have 
suspected  the  cause,  for  they  walked  to  a  little  distance,  and 
left  me  to  the  indulgence  of  my  feelings.  I  gathered  thosa 
flowers,  and  placed  them  in  my  bosom,  and  kept  them  for 
many  a  day ;  they  had  become  holy,  when  connected  with 
wacred  home  recollections,  and  the  never-dying  affections  of 
the  heart  which  the  sight  of  them  recalled. 

A  shout  from  our  companions  in  the  other  canoe  made  ua 
retrace  our  steps  to  the  shore.  Tliey  had  already  rounded 
the  point,  and  were  wondering  at  our  absence.  Oh,  what  a 
magnificent  scene  of  wild  and  lonely  grandeur  burst  upon  us 
as  we  swept  round  the  little  peninsula,  and  the  whoJe  majesty 
of  Stony  Lake  broke  upon  us  at  once ;  another  Lake  of  the 
Thousand  Isles,  in  miniature,  and  in  the  heart  of  the  wilder- 
ness !  Imagine  a  large  sheet  of  water,  some  lifteen  miles  in 
breadth  and  twenty-five  in  length,  taken  up  by  islands  of 
every  size  and  sliape,  from  the  lofty  naked  rock  of  red  granite 
to  the  rounded  hill,  covered  with  oak-leaves  to  its  summit ;  I 
while  others  were  level  with  the  waters,  and  of  a  rich  emerald 
green,  only  fringed  with  a  growth  of  aquatic  shrubs  and 
flowers.  Never  did  my  eyes  rest  on  a  more  lovely  or  beau- 
tiful scene.  Not  a  vestige  of  man,  or  of  his  works,  was  there. 
The  setting  sun,  that  ca^t  such  a  gorgeous  flood  of  light  upon 
this  exquisite  panorama,  bringing  out  some  of  these  lofty 
islands  in  strong  relief,  and  casting  others  into  intense  shade, 
Bhed  no  cheery  beam  upon  church  spire  or  cottage  pane. 
We  beheld  the  landscape,  savage  and  grand  in  its  primeval 
beauty. 

As  we  floated  among  the  channels  between  these  rocky 
picturesque  isles,  I  asked  Mat  how  many  of  them  there  were. 

"  1  never  could  succeed,"  he  said.  "  hi  counting  them  all. 


:i.7 


64 


ROUOniSO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


One  Sunday,  Pat  and  I  spent  a  whole  flay  in  going  from  one 
to  the  other,  to  try  and  make  out  how  many  there  were,  but 
we  could  only  count  up  to  one  hundred  and  forty  before  we 
gave  up  the  task  in  despair.  There  are  a  great  nuiny  of 
them ;  more  than  any  one  would  think — and,  what  is  very 
singular,  the  channel  between  them  is  very  deep,  sometimes 
above  forty  feet,  which  accounts  for  the  few  rapids  to  be  found 
in  this  lake.  It  is  a  glorious  place  for  hunting ;  and  the  wa- 
ters  "irdisturbed  by  steamboats,  abotmd  in  all  sorts  of  fish. 

"  Most  of  these  islands  are  covered  with  huckleberries ; 
while  grapes,  high  and  low-bush  cranberries,  blackberries, 
wild  cherries,  gooseberries,  and  several  sorts  of  wild  currants 
grow  here  in  profusion.  There  is  one  island  among  these 
groups  (but  I  never  could  light  upon  the  identical  one)  where 
the  Indians  yearly  gather  their  wampum-grass.  They  come 
here  to  collect  the  best  birch-bark  for  their  canoes,  and  to 
gather  wild  onions.  In  short,  from  the  game,  fish,  and  fruit, 
which  they  collect  among  the  islands  of  this  lake,  they  chiefly 
depend  for  their  subsistence.  They  are  very  jealoi's  of  the 
settlers  in  the  country  coming  to  hunt  and  fish  hen;,  and  tell 
many  stories  of  wild  beasts  and  rattlesnakes  that  abound 
along  its  shores ;  but  I,  who  have  frequented  the  lake  for  years, 
was  never  disturbed  by  any  thing,  beyond  the  adventure  with 
the  wolf,  which  I  have  already  told  you.  The  banks  of  this 
lake  are  all  stCvjp  and  rocky,  and  the  land  along  the  shore  is 
barren,  and  totally  unfit  for  cultivation. 

"  Had  we  time  to  nm  up  a  few  miles  further,  I  could  have 
showed  you  some  places  well  worth  a  journey  to  look  at;  but 
the  sun  is  already  down,  ar.d  it  will  be  dark  before  we  get 
back  to  the  mill." 

The  other  canoe  now  floated  alongside,  and  Pat  agreed 
with  his  brother  that  it  was  high  time  to  return.  With  re- 
luctance I  turned  from  this  strangely  fascinating  scene.     As 


j 


^ 


A   TRIP  TO  STONY  LAKK.  || 

we  passed  under  one  bold  rocky  island,  Mat  said,  laughingly, 
"That  is  Mount  Rascal." 

"  How  did  it  obtain  tl  lat  name  T 

"Oh,  we  were  out  here  berrying,  with  our  good  priest 

Mr.  B .    This  island  promised  so  fair,  that  we  landed 

upon  it,  and,  after  searching  for  an  hour,  we  returned  to  the 
boat  without  a  single  berry,  upon  which  Mr.  B— —  named  it 
*  Mount  Rascal.'" 

The  island  was  so  beautiful,  it  did  not  deserve  the  name, 
and  1  christened  it  "  Oak  Hill,"  from  the  abundance  of  oak- 
trees  which  clothed  its  steep  sides.  The  wood  of  this  oak  is 
so  heavy  and  hard  that  it  will  not  float  in  the  water,  and  it  is 
in  great  request  for  the  runners  of  lumber-sleighs,  which  have 
to  pass  over  very  bad  roads. 

The  breeze,  which  had  rendered  our  sail  up  the  lakes  so 
expeditious  and  refi'eshing,  had  stiffened  into  a  pretty  high 
wind,  which  was  dead  against  us  all  the  way  down.  Betty 
now  knelt  in  the  bow  and  assisted  her  broth^ir,  squaw  fashion, 
in  paddling  the  canoe ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  their  united  exer. 
tions,  it  was  past  ten  o'clock  before  we  reached  the  mill. 
The  good  Norah  was  waiting  tea  for  us.  She  had  given  the 
children  their  supper  four  hv  iirs  ago,  and  the  little  creatures, 
tired  with  using  their  feet  all  day,  were  sound  asleep  upon 
her  bed. 

After  supper,  several  Irish  songs  were  sung,  while  Pat 
played  upon  the  fiddle,  and  Betty  and  Mat  enlivened  the 
company  with  an  Irish  jig. 

It  was  midnight  when  the  children  were  placed  on  my 
cloak  at  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  and  we  bade  adieu  to  this 
hospitable  family.  The  wind  being  dead  against  us,  we  were 
obliged  to  dispense  with  the  sail,  and  take  to  our  paddles. 
The  moonlight  was  as  bright  as  day,  the  air  warm  and  balmy ; 
and  the  aromatic,  resinous  smell  exuded  by  the  heat  from  the 


80 


nouainsG  it  is  the  nusii. 


:{ 


bulnj-«»f-f?ilead  and  the  piiio-trci'S  in  the  forest,  added  greatly 
to  our  Huiise  ol'  unjoynieiit  uh  we  floated  past  scenes  so  wild 
and  lonely — isles  that  assumed  a  mysterious  look  and  eharao 
tcr  in  that  witching  honr.  In  moments  like  these,  I  ceased  to 
regret  my  separation  from  my  native  land;  and,  filled  with 
tile  love  of  Nature,  my  heart  forgot  for  the  time  the  love  of 
home.  The  very  spirit  of  peace  seemed  to  brood  over  the 
waters,  which  were  broken  into  a  thousand  ripples  of  light  by 
every  breeze  that  stirred  the  rice  blossoms,  or  whispered 
through  the  shivering  aspen-trees.  The  tar-oflf  roar  of  the 
rapids,  softened  by  distance,  and  the  long,  mournful  ?ry  of 
the  night-owl,  alone  broke  the  silence  of  the  night.  Amid 
these  lonely  wilds  the  soul  draws  nearer  to  God,  and  is  filled 
to  overflowing  by  the  overwhelming  sense  of  I  lis  presence. 

It  ^''.ta  Iv'o  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  we  fastened  the 
canoe  to  the  Is.nding,  and  Moodie  carried  up  the  children  to 
th,j  house.  I  found  the  girl  still  up  with  my  boy,  who  had 
b'jen  very  restless  during  our  absence.  My  heart  reproached 
me,  as  I  caught  him  to  my  breast,  for  leaving  him  so  long; 
ill  a  few  minutes  he  was  consoled  for  past  sorrows,  and  sleep 
iiig  ciweetly  in  my  arms. 


I 


D/SAP/'OLYTA'/'  JfOPKS. 


87 


CHAPTER    VI. 


DISAPPOINTED      HOPES. 


THE  summer  of  '35  was  very  wet ;  a  circumstance  so  un. 
usual  in  Canada  that  I  have  seen  no  season  like  it  during 
my  sojourn  in  the  country.  Our  wheat  crop  promised  to  be 
both  excellent  and  abundant;  and  the  clearing  and  seeding 
sixteen  acres,  one  way  or  another,  had  cost  us  more  than  fifty 
pounds ;  still,  we  hoped  'o  realize  something  handsome  by  the 
sale  of  the  produce ;  and,  as  far  as  appearances  went,  all 
looked  fair.  The  rain  commenced  about  a  week  before  the 
crop  was  fit  for  the  sickle,  and  from  that  time  until  nearly  the  I 
end  of  September  was  a  mere  succession  of  thunder  showers ; 
days  of  intense  heat,  succeeded  by  fl(X)ds  of  rain.  Our  fine  . 
crop  shared  the  fate  of  all  other  fine  crops  in  the  country ;  it 
was  totally  spoiled ;  the  wheat  grew  in  the  sheaf,  and  we  could 
scarcely  save  enough  to  supply  us  with  bad,  sticky  bread ;  the 
rest  was  exchanged  at  the  distillery  for  whiskey,  which  was 
the  only  produce  which  could  be  obtained  for  it.  The  store- 
keepers would  not  look  at  it,  or  gl  ve  either  money  or  goods  | 
for  such  a  damaged  article. 

My  husband  and  I  had  worked  hard  in  the  field ;  it  was 
the  first  time  1  had  ever  tried  my  hand  at  field-labour,  but  our 
ready  money  was  exhausted,  and  the  steamboat  stock  had  not 
paid  us  orie  farthing ;  we  could  not  hire,  and  there  was  no  help 
for  it.  I  had  a  hard  struggle  with  my  pride  before  I  -^ould 
consent  to  render  the  least  assistance  on  the  farm,  bu.  refieo- 


:>    :'■    ■» 


88 


JiOirOIIINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


tion  convinced  me  that  I  was  wrong — that  Providence  had 
placed  me  in  a  situation  where  I  was  called  upon  to  work — 
that  it  was  not  only  my  duty  to  obey  that  call,  but  to  exert 
myself  to  the  utmost  to  assist  my  husband,  and  help  to  muin- 
uiin  my  family. 

Ah,  glorious  poverty !  thou  art  a  hard  taskmaster,  but  in 
thy  soul-ennobling  school,  I  have  received  more  god-like  les- 
sons, have  learned  more  sublime  truths,  than  ever  I  acquired 
in  the  smooth  highways  of  the  world  !  The  independent  in 
soul  can  rise  above  the  seeming  disgrace  of  poverty,  and  hold 
fast  their  integrity,  in  defiance  of  the  world  and  its  selfish  and 
unwise  maxims.  To  them,  no  labour  is  too  great,  no  trial  too 
severe ;  they  will  unflmchingly  exert  every  faculty  of  mind 
and  body,  before  they  will  submit  to  become  a  burden  to 
others. 

The  misfortunes  that  now  crowded  upon  us  were  the  result 
of  no  misconduct  or  extravagance  on  our  part,  but  arose  out 
of  circumstances  which  we  could  not  avert  nor  control.  Find- 
ing too  late  the  error  into  which  we  had  fallen,  in  suffering 
ourselves  to  be  cajoled  and  plundered  out  of  our  property  by 
interested  speculators,  we  braced  our  minds  to  bear  the  worst, 
and  determined  to  meet  our  difficulties  calmly  and  firmly,  nor 
suffer  our  spirits  to  sink  under  calamities  which  energy  and 
industry  might  eventually  repair.  Having  once  come  to  this 
resolution,  we  cheerfully  shared  together  the  labours  of  the 
field.  One  in  heart  and  purpose,  we  dared  remain  true  to 
ourselves,  true  to  our  high  destiny  as  immortal  creatures,  in 
our  conflict  with  temporal  and  physical  wants.  We  found 
that  manual  toil,  however  distasteful  to  those  unaccustomed  to 
it,  was  not  after  all  such  a  dreadful  hardship;  that  the  wilder- 
ness was  not  without  its  rose,  the  hard  face  of  poverty  without 
its  smile.  If  we  occasionally  suffered  severe  pain,  we  as  oflen 
experienced  great  pleasure,  and  I  have  contemplated  a  well- 


DISAPPOINTED  HOPES. 


89 


hoed  ridge  of  potatoes  on  that  bush  farm,  with  as  much  d<v 
light  as  in  years  long  past  I  had  experienced  in  examining  a 
line  painting  in  some  well-appointed  drawing-room. 

I  can  now  look  back  with  calm  thankfulness  on  that  long 
period  of  trial  and  exertion — with  thankfulness  that  the  dark 
clouds  that  hung  over  us,  threatening  to  blot  us  from  existencG, 
when  they  did  burst  upon  us,  were  full  of  blessings.  When 
our  situation  appeared  perfectly  desperate,  then  were  we  on 
the  threshold  of  a  new  state  of  things,  which  was  born  out  of 
that  very  distress. 

In  order  more  fully  to  illustrate  the  necessity  of  a  perfect 
and  childlike  reliance  upon  the  mercies  of  God — who,  I  most 
firmly  believe,  never  deserts  those  who  have  placed  their  trust 
in  Him — I  will  give  a  brief  sketch  of  our  lives  during  the 
years  1836  and  1837. 

Still  confidently  expecting  to  realize  an  income,  however 
small,  from  the  steamboat  stock,  we  had  involved  ourselves 
considerably  in  debt,  in  order  to  pay  our  servants  and  obtain 
the  common  necessaries  of  life  ;  and  we  owed  a  large  sum  to 
two  Englishmen  in  Dummer,  for  clearing  ten  more  acres  upoL 
the  farm.  Our  utter  inability  to  meet  these  demands  weighed 
very  heavily  upon  my  husband's  mind.  All  superfluities  in 
the  way  of  groceries  were  nov/  given  up,  and  we  were  com- 
pelled to  rest  satisfied  upon  the  produce  of  the  farm.  Milk, 
bread,  and  potatoes,  during  the  summer  became  our  chief,  and 
often,  for  months,  our  only  fare.  As  to  tea  and  sugar,  they 
v/ere  luxuries  we  would  not  think  of,  although  I  missed  the 
tea  very  much ;  we  rang  the  changes  upon  peppermint  and 
sage,  taking  the  one  herb  at  our  breakfast,  the  other  at  our 
t;ea,  until  I  found  an  excellent  substitute  for  both  in  the  root 
of  the  dandelion. 

The  first  year  we  came  to  this  country,  I  met  with  an  ac 
count  of  dandelion  coffee,  published  in  the  New  York  Albion^ 


^ 


V 


ili. 


.*■■,' 


■hr 


'''     V     i 


I*       I 


?/         1 


90 


ROUGHINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


given  by  a  Dr.  Harrison,  of  Edinburgh,  who  earnestly  reconi' 
mended  it  as  an  article  of  general  use. 

"  It  possesses,"  he  says,  "  all  the  fine  flavour  and  exhila. 
rating  properties  of  coifee,  without  any  of  its  deleterious 
effects.  The  plant  being  of  a  soporific  nature,  the  coffee  made 
from  it  when  drank  at  night  produces  a  tendency  to  sleep, 
instead  of  exciting  wakefulness,  and  may  be  safely  used  as  a 
cheap  and  wholesome  substitute  for  the  Arabian  berry,  being 
equal  in  substance  and  flavour  to  'be  best  Mocha  coffee." 

I  was  much  struck  with  this  paragraph  at  the  time,  and  for 
several  years  felt  a  great  inclination  to  try  the  Doctor's  coffee ; 
but  something  or  other  always  came  in  the  way,  and  it  was 
put  off  till  another  opportunity.  During  the  fall  of  \  5, 1  was 
assisting  my  husband  in  taking  up  a  crop  of  potatoes  in  the 
field,  and  observing  a  vast  number  of  fine  dandelion  roots 
among  the  potatoes,  it  brought  the  dandelion  coffee  back  to 
my  memory,  and  I  determined  to  try  some  for  our  supper. 
Without  saying  anything  to  my  husband,  I  threw  aside  some 
of  the  roots,  and  when  we  lefl  work,  collecting  a  sufficient 
quantity  for  the  experiment,  I  carefully  washed  the  roots  quite 
clean,  without  depriving  them  of  the  fine  brown  skin  which 
covers  them,  and  which  contains  the  aromatic  flavour,  which 
so  nearly  resembles  coffee  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  ic 
from  it  while  roasting.  I  cut  my  roots  into  small  pieces,  the 
size  of  a  kidney-bean,  and  roasted  them  on  an  iron  baking-pan 
in  the  stove-oven,  until  they  were  as  brown  and  crisp  as  coffee. 
I  then  ground  and  transferred  a  small  cupful  of  the  powder  to 
the  coffee-pot,  pouring  upon  it  scalding  water,  and  boiling  it 
for  a  few  minutes  briskly  over  the  fire.  The  result  was 
beyond  my  expectations.  The  coflTee  proved  excellent — far 
superior  to  the  common  coffee  we  procured  at  the  stores. 

To  persons  residing  in  the  bush,  and  to  whom  tea  and 
coffee  are  very  expensive  articles  of  luxury,  the  knowledge  of 


DlSAPPomTED  HOPES. 


9: 


this  valuable  property  in  a  plant,  scattered  so  abundantly 
through  their  fields,  would  prove  highly  beneficial.  For 
years  we  used  no  other  pi'tlcle ;  and  my  Indian  friends  who 
frequented  the  house  gladly  adopted  the  root,  and  made  me 
show  them  the  whole  process  of  manufacturing  it  into  coffee. 

Experience  taught  me  that  the  root  of  the  dandelion  's 
not  so  good,  when  applied  to  this  purpose,  in  the  spring  as  it 
is  in  the  iall.  I  tried  it  in  the  spring,  but  the  juice  of  the 
plant,  "having  contributed  to  the  production  of  leaves  and 
flowers,  was  weak,  and  destitute  of  the  fine  bitter  flavour  so 
peculiar  to  coffee.  The  time  of  gathering  in  the  potato  crop 
is  the  best  suited  for  collecting  and  drying  the  roots  of  the 
dandelion ;  and  as  they  always  abound  in  the  same  hills,  both 
may  be  accomplished  at  the  same  time.  Those  who  want  to 
keep  a  quantity  for  winter  use  may  wash  and  cut  up  the  roots, 
and  dry  them  on  boards  in  the  sun.  They  will  keep  for  years, 
and  can  be  roasted  when  required. 

Few  of  our  colonists  are  acquainted  with  the  many  uses  to 
which  this  neglected  but  most  valuable  plant  may  be  applied. 
I  will  point  out  a  few  which  have  come  under  my  own  obser- 
vation, convinced  as  I  am  that  the  time  will  come  when  this 
hardy  weed,  with  its  golden  floorers  and  curious  seed-vessels, 
which  form  a  constant  plaything  to  the  little  children  rolling 
about  and  luxuriating  among  the  grass,  in  the  sunny  month  of 
May,  will  be  transplanted  into  our  gardens,  and  tended  with 
due  care.  The  dandelion  planted  in  trenches,  and  blanched 
to  a  beautiful  cream-colour  with  straw,  makes  an  excellent 
salad,  quite  equal  to  endive,  and  is  more  hardy  and  requires 
less  care. 

In  many  parts  of  the  United  States,  particul  irly  in  new 
districts  where  vegetables  are  scarce,  it  is  used  early  in  the 
spring,  and  boiled  with  pork  as  a  substitute  for  cabbage. 
Du"ing  our  residence  in  the  bush  we  found  it,  in  the  early 


jiin 


92 


liOUOHINO   IT  IN  THE  BOSH. 


'^u 


"t'v 


h;f 


at'-' 

pa*'!:  1  .    , 


SKI 


t!  ' 


part  of  May,  a  great  addition  to  the  dinner-table.  In  the 
township  of  Duminer,  the  settlers  boil  the  tops,  and  add  hops 
to  the  liquor,  which  they  ferment,  and  from  which  they  obtain 
excellent  beer.  I  have  never  tasted  this  simple  beverage,  but 
I  have  been  told  by  those  who  use  it  that  it  is  equal  to  the 
table-beer  used  at  home. 

Necessity  has  truly  been  termed  the  mother  of  invention, 
fcr  I  contrived  to  manufacture  a  variety  of  dishes  almost 
out  of  nothing,  while  living  in  her  school.  When  entirely 
destitute  of  animal  food,  the  different  variety  of  squirrels  sup- 
plied us  with  pies,  stews,  and  roasts.  Our  barn  stood  at  the 
top  of  the  hill  near  the  bush,  and  in  a  trap  set  for  such  "  small 
deer,"  we  often  caught  from  ten  to  twelve  a-day. 

The  flesh  of  the  black  squirrel  is  equal  to  that  of  the  rabbit, 
and  the  red,  and  even  the  little  chissmunk,  is  palatable  when 
nicely  cooked.  But  from  the  lake,  during  the  summer,  we 
derived  the  larger  portion  of  our  food.  The  children  called 
this  piece  of  water  "  Mamma's  pantry,"  ana  many  a  good 
meal  has  the  munificent  Father  given  to  his  poor  dependent 
children  from  its  well-stored  depths.  Moodie  and  I  used  to 
rise  by  daybreak,  and  fish  for  an  hour  after  sunrise,  when  we 
returned,  he  to  the  field,  and  I  to  dress  the  little  ones,  clean 
up  the  house,  assist  with  the  milk,  and  prepare  the  breakfast. 

Oh,  how  I  enjoyed  these  excursions  on  the  lake !  The  very 
'dea  of  our  dinner  depending  upon  our  success,  added  double 
sest  to  our  i?port. 

One  morning  we  started  as  usual  before  sunrise ;  a  thick 
mist  still  hung  like  a  fine  veil  upon  the  water  when  we  pushed 
off,  and  anchored  at  our  accustomed  place.  Just  as  the  sun 
rose,  and  the  haze  parted  and  drew  up  like  a  golden  sheet  of 
transparent  gauze,  through  which  the  dark  woods  loomed  out 
like  giants,  a  noble  buck  dashed  into  the  wate**,  followed  by 
four  Indian  hounds. 


DISAPPOINTED  HOPES, 


OS 


\ 


We  then  discovered  a  canoe,  full  of  Indians,  just  below  the 
rapids,  and  another  not  many  yards  from  us,  that  had  been 
concealed  by  the  fog.  It  was  a  noble  sight,  that  gallant  deer 
exerting  all  his  energy,  and  stemming  the  water  with  such 
matchless  grace,  his  branching  horns  held  proudly  aloft,  his 
broad  nostrils  distended,  and  his  fine  eye  fixed  intently  upor 
the  opposite  shore.  Several  rifle-balls  whizzed  past  him,  the 
dogs  followed  hard  upon  his  track,  but  my  very  heart  leaped 
for  joy  when,  in  spite  of  all  his  foes,  his  glossy  hoofs  spumed 
the  opposite  bank  and  he  plunged  headlong  into  the  forest. 

My  beloved  partner  was  most  skilful  in  trolling  for  bass 
and  muskinonge.  His  line  he  generally  fastened  to  the  pad- 
dle, and  the  motion  of  the  oar  gave  a  life-like  vibration  to 
the  queer-looking  mice  and  dragon-flies  I  used  to  manufacture 
from  squirrel  fur,  or  scarlet  and  white  cloth,  to  tempt  the 
finny  wanderers  of  the  wave. 

When  too  busy  himself  to  fish  for  our  meals,  little  Katie 
and  I  ventured  out  alone  in  the  canoe,  which  we  anchored  in 
any  promising  fishing  spot,  by  fastening  a  harrow  tooth  to  a 
piece  of  rope,  and  letting  it  drop  from  the  side  of  the  little 
vessel.  By  the  time  she  was  five  years  old,  my  little  mer- 
maid could  both  steer  and  paddle  the  light  vessel,  and  catch 
small  fish,  which  were  useful  for  soup. 

During  the  winter  of  '36,  we  experienced  many  privations. 

The  rufiian  squatter  P ,  from  Clear  Lake,  drove  from  the 

barn  a  fine  young  bull  we  were  rearing,  and  for  several  weeks 
all  trace  of  the  animal  was  lost.  We  had  almost  forgotten 
the  existence  of  poor  Whiskey,  when  a  neighbour  called  and 

told  Moodie  that  his  yearling  was  at  P 's,  and  that  he 

would  advise  him  to  get  it  back  as  soon  as  possible.     Moodie 

had  to  take  some  wheat  to  Y 's  mill,  and  as  the  squattei 

lived  only  a  mile  further,  he  called  at  his  house ;  and  there, 
sure  enough,  he  found  the  lost  animal.     With  the  greatest 


If 


.;..  1 


04 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSR. 


/ 


difficulty  he  succeeded  in  regaining  his  property,  but  not  wiui 
out  many  threats  of  vengeance  from  the  parties  who  had 
stolen  it.  To  these  he  paid  no  regard  ;  but  a  few  days  aft«r. 
six  fat  hogs,  on  which  we  depended  for  all  our  winter  store 
of  animal  food,  were  driven  into  the  lake,  and  destroyed.  Tne 
death  of  these  animals  deprived  us  of  three  barrels  of  pork, 
and  half  starved  us  through  the  winter.  That  winter  of  '3(5, 
how  heavily  it  wore  away  !  The  grown  flour,  frosted  pota- 
toes, and  scant  quantity  of  animal  food  rendered  us  all  weak, 
and  the  children  suffered  much  from  the  ague. 

One  day,  just  before  the  snow  fell,  Moodie  had  gone  to 
Peterborough  for  letters ;  our  servant  was  sick  in  bed  with 
the  ague,  and  I  was  nursing  my  little  boy,  Dunbar,  who  was 
shaking  with  the  cold  fit  of  his  miserable  fever,  wlien  Jacob 
put  his  honest,  round,  rosy  face  in  at  the  door. 

"  Give  me  the  master's  gun,  ma'am ;  there's  a  big  buck 
feeding  on  the  rice-bed  near  the  island." 

I  took  down  the  gun,  saying,  "Jacob,  you  have  no  chance; 
there  is  but  one  charge  of  buck-shot  in  the  house." 

"  One  chance  is  better  nor  none,"  said  Jacob,  as  he  com- 
menced loading  the  gun.  "  Who  knows  what  may  happen  to 
oie.  Mayhap  oie  may  chance  to  kill  'un ;  and  you  and  the 
measter  and  the  wee  bairns  may  have  zuminut  zavory  for 
zupper  yet." 

Away  walked  Jacob  with  Hoodie's  "Manton"  over  his 
shoulder.  A  few  minutes  after,  1  heard  the  report  of  the 
gun,  but  never  expected  to  see  anything  of  the  game ;  when 
Jacob  suddenly  bounced  into  the  room,  half  wild  with  delight, 

"  Thae  beast  iz  dead  az  a  door-nail.  Zure,  how  the  meas. 
ter  will  laugh  when  he  zees  the  fine  buck  that  oie  a'  zhot.** 

"  And  have  you  really  shot  him  f 

"  Come  and  zee  !  *Tis  worth  your  while  to  walk  dowi^  lo 
tlie  landing  to  look  at  'un." 


DISAPPOINTED  HOPES. 


»5 


Jacob  got  a  rope,  and  I  followed  him  to  the  lani  ling,  where, 
sure  enough,  lay  a  fine  buck,  fastenc-d  in  tow  of  the  canoe. 
Jacob  soon  secured  him  by  the  hind  legs  to  the  rope  he  had 
brought ;  and,  with  our  united  eflbrts,  we  at  last  succeeded  in 
dragging  our  prize  home.  All  the  time  he  was  engaged  in 
taking  off  the  skin,  Jacob  was  anticipating  the  feast  that  we 
were  to  have;  and  the  good  fellow  chuckled  with  delight 
when  he  hung  the  carcass  quite  close  to  the  kitchen  door,  that 
his  "  measter"  might  run  against  it  when  he  came  home  at 
night.  This  event  actually  took  place.  When  Moodie 
opened  the  door,  he  struck  his  head  against  the  dead  deer. 

**  What  have  you  got  here  T 

*'  A  fine  buck,  zur,"  said  Jacob,  bringing  forward  the  light, 
«nd  holding  it  up  in  such  a  manner  that  all  the  merits  of  the 
prize  could  be  seen  at  a  glance. 

"  A  fine  one,  indeed  !     How  did  we  come  bv  it  f 

"  It  was  zhot  by  oie,"  said  Jacob,  rubbing  his  hands  in  ft 
sort  of  ecstacy.  "  Thae  beast  iz  the  first  oie  ever  zhot  in  iry 
Jife.     He!  he!  he!" 

"  You  shot  that  fine  deer,  Jacob  1 — and  there  was  only  one 
charge  in  the  gun !     Well  done ;  you  must  have  taken  a  good 


aim 


» 


*'  Why,  zur,  oie  took  no  aim  at  all.  Oie  just  pointed  the 
gun  at  the  deer,  and  zhut  my  oeys  an  let  fly  at  'un.  'Twas 
Providence  kill'd  'un,  not  oie." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  Moodie  ;  *'  Providence  has  hitherto 
watched  over  us  and  kept  us  from  actual  starvation." 

The  flesh  of  the  deer,  and  the  good  broth  that  I  was  able 
to  obtain  from  it,  greatly  assisted  in  restoring  our  sick  to 
health;  but  long  before  that  severe  winter  terminated  we 

were  again  out  of  food.     Mrs. had  given  to  Katie,  in 

the  fall,  a  very  pretty  little  pig,  which  she  had  named  Spot. 
The  animal  was  a  great  favourite  with  Jacob  and  the  childreUf 


I 
i 


:    i. 


u 


m 


ROUGTIIXO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


f 


■xy- 

'lit*  ■ 


4 


:i 


Ix 


and  he  always  received  liis  food  from  their  luinds  at  the  door 
and  followed  them  all  over  the  place  like  a  dog.  We  had  a 
noble  hound  called  Hector,  between  whom  and  the  pet  pig 
there  existed  the  most  tender  friendship.  Spot  always  shared 
with  Hector  the  hollow  log  which  served  him  for  a  kennel, 
and  we  often  laughed  to  see  Hector  lead  Spot  round  the 
clearing  by  his  ear.  After  bearing  the  want  of  animal  food 
until  our  souls  sickened  at  the  bad  potatoes  and  grown  flour 
bread,  we  began — that  is  thj  eldest  of  the  family — to  cast 
very  hungry  eyes  upon  Spot ;  but  no  one  liked  to  propose 
having  him  killed.  At  last  Jacob  spoke  his  mind  upon  the 
subject. 

"  Oi've  heard,  zur,  that  the  Jews  never  eat  pork  ;  but  we 
Christians  dooz,  and  are  right  glad  ov  the  chance.  Now,  zur, 
oi've  been  thinking  that  'tis  no  manner  ov  use  our  keeping 
that  beast  Spot.  If  he  wor  a  zow,  now,  there  might  be  zome 
zenze  in  the  thing ;  and  we  all  feel  weak  for  a  morzel  of  meat. 
S'poze  I  kill  him  ?     He  won't  make  a  bad  piece  of  pork." 

Moodie  seconded  the  move ;  and,  in  spite  of  the  tears  and 
prayers  of  Katie,  her  uncouth  pet  was  sacrificed  to  the  gen- 
eral wants  of  the  family  ;  but  there  were  two  members  of  the 
house  who  disdained  to  eat  a  morsel  of  the  victim ;  poor  Katie 
and  the  dog  Hector.  At  the  self-denial  of  the  first  I  did  noi 
at  all  wonder,  for  she  was  a  child  full  of  sensibility  and  warn; 
affections,  but  the  attachment  of  the  brute  creature  to  his  old 
playmate  filled  us  all  with  surprise.  Jacob  first  drew  ouj 
attention  to  the  strange  fact. 

"That  dog,"  he  said,  as  we  were  passing  through  tb 
kitchen  while  he  was  at  dinner,  "  do  teach  uz  Christians  j 
lesson  how  to  treat  our  friends.  Why,  zur,  he'll  not  eat » 
morzel  of  Spot.  Oie  have  tried  and  tempted  him  in  all  man 
ner  ov  ways,  and  he  only  do  zneer  and  turn  up  his  nose  whes 
oie  hould  him  a  bit  to  taste."     He  offered  the  animal  a  ril 


DISAPPOINTED  HOPES. 


\n 


or 
a 


the 
►od 


of  the  ii'eah  pork  as  he  finished  speaking,  and  the  dog  turHO<i 
away  with  an  expression  of  aversion,  and  on  a  repetition  of 
the  act,  walked  from  the  table.  Human  aflection  could 
scarcely  have  surpassed  the  love  felt  by  this  poor  animal  for 
his  playfellow.  His  attachment  to  Spot,  that  could  overcome 
the  pangs  of  hunger — for,  like  the  rest  of  us,  he  was  half 
starved — must  have  been  strong  indeed. 

Jacob's  attachment  to  us,  in  its  shuplicity  and  fidelity, 
greatly  resembled  that  of  the  dog  ;  and  sometimes,  like  the 
dog,  he  would  push  himself  in  where  he  was  not  wanted,  and 
gratuitously  give  his  advice,  and  make  remarks  which  were 
not  required. 

Mr.  K ,  from  Cork,  was  asking  Moodie  many  ques- 
tions about  the  partridges  of  the  country ;  and,  among  other 
things,  he  wanted  to  know  by  what  token  you  were  able  to 
discover  their  favourite  haunts.  Before  Moodie  could  answer 
this  last  query  a  voice  responded,  through  a  large  crack  in  the 
boarded  wall  which  separated  us  from  the  kitchen,  "  They  al 
ways  bides  where  they's  drum."  This  announcement  was 
received  with  a  burst  of  laughter  that  greatly  disconcerted  the 
natural  philosopher  in  the  kitchen. 

On  the  21st  of  May  of  this  year,  my  second  son,  Donald, 
was  born.  Tlie  poor  fellow  came  in  hard  times.  The  cows 
had  not  calved,  and  our  bill  of  fare,  now  minus  the  deer  and 
Spot,  only  consisted  of  bad  potatoes  and  still  worse  bread.  I 
was  rendered  so  weak  by  want  of  proper  nourishment  that  my 
dear  husband,  for  my  sake,  overcame  his  aversion  to  borrow- 
ing, and  procured  a  quarter  of  mutton  from  a  friend.  This, 
with  kindly  presents  from  neighbours — often  as  badly  off  as 
ourselves — a  loin  of  a  young  bear,  and  a  basket,  containing  a 
loaf  of  bread,  some  tea,  some  fresh  butter,  and  oatmeal,  went 
far  to  save  my  life. 

Shortly  after  my  recovery,  Jacob — the  faithful,  good  Jacob 

VOL.  II.  5 


1/ 


[ 


m 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


U 


\ 


V 


I' 


—was  obliged  to  leave  us,  for  we  could  no  longer  aiford  to 
pay  wages.  What  was  owing  to  him  had  to  be  settled  by 
saciilicing  our  best  cow,  and  a  groat  many  valuable  articles 
of  clothing  from  my  husband's  wardrobe.  Nothing  is  more 
distressing  than  being  obliged  to  part  with  articles  of  dress 
which  you  k  >w  that  you  cannot  re[)laee.  Almost  all  my 
cIoUr's  had  been  appropriated  to  the  payment  of  wages,  or  to 
obtain  garments  fur  the  children,  excepting  my  wedding-dress, 
and  the  beautiful  baby -linen  which  had  been  made  by  the 
hands  of  dear  and  affectionate  friends  for  my  first-born.  These 
•were  now  exchanged  for  coarse,  warm  flannels,  to  shield  her 
from  the  cold.  Moodie  and  Jacob  had  chopped  eight  acres 
during  the  winter,  but  these  had  to  be  burnt  oft'  and  logged- 
up  before  we  could  put  in  a  crop  of  wheat  for  the  ensuing  fall. 
Had  we  been  able  to  retain  this  industrious,  kindly  English 
lad,  this  would  have  been  soon  accomplished  ;  but  his  wages, 
at  the  rate  of  thircy  pounds  per  annum,  were  now  utterly  be- 
yond our  means. 

Jacob  had  formed  un  attachment  to  my  pretty  maid,  Mary 
Pine,  and  before  going  to  the  Southern  States,  to  join  an  uncle 
who  resided  in  Louisville,  an  opulent  tradesman,  who  had 
promised  to  teach  him  his  business,  Jacob  thought  it  as  well 
to  declare  himself.  The  declaration  took  place  on  a  log  of 
wood  near  the  back  door,  and  from  mv  chamber  window  I 
could  both  hear  and  see  the  parties,  without  being  myself  ob- 
sei'ved.  Mary  was  seated  very  demurely  at  one  end  of  the 
log,  twisting  the  strings  of  her  checked  apron,  and  the  loving 
Jacob  was  busily  whittling  the  other  extremity  of  their  rustic 
scat.  There  w^as  a  long  silence.  Mary  stole  a  look  at  Jacob, 
and  he  heaved  a  tremendous  sigh,  something  between  a  yawn 
and  a  groan.     "  Meary,"  he  said,  "  I  must  go." 

"  I  knew  that  afore,"  returned  the  girl. 

*'  1  had  zummat  to  zay  to  you,  Meary.    Do  you  think  you 


niSAPPOLVrED  HOPES. 


99 


^ill  miss  oie?"  (looking  very  affectionately,  and  twitching 
nearer.) 

"  Wliat  put  that  into  your  head,  Jacob  V  Tliia  was  said 
very  demurely. 

"  Oie  thowt,  maybe,  Meary,  that  your  feelings  might  be 
zummat  loike  my  own.  1  f'3el  zore  about  the  heart,  Meary, 
and  it's  all  com'  of  parting  with  yoii.  Doi  *t  you  feel  queerisih, 
too?" 

"  Can't  say  that  I  do,  Jacob.  !  shall  soon  see  you  again,** 
(pulling  violently  at  her  apron-string.) 

"Meary,  oi'm  afeard  you  don't  feel  like  oie." 

"  P'r'aps  not — women  can't  feel  like  men.  I'm  sorry  that 
you  are  going,  Jacob,  for  you  have  been  very  kind  and  obli- 
ging, and  I  wish  you  well." 

"  Meary,"  cried  Jacob,  growing  desperate  at  her  coyness, 
and  getting  quite  close  up  to  her,  "  will  you  marry  oie  1  Say 
yeez  or  noa. " 

This  was  coming  close  to  the  point.  Mary  drew  farther 
from  him,  and  turned  her  head  away. 

"  Meary,"  said  Jacob,  seizing  upon  the  hand  that  held 
the  apron-string,  "  do  you  think  you  can  better  yoursel'  1  If 
not — why,  oie'm  your  man.  Now^,  do  just  turn  about  your 
head  and  answer  oie." 

The  girl  turned  round,  and  gave  him  a  quick,  shy  glance, 
then  burst  out  into  a  simpering  laugh. 

"  Meary,  will  you  take  oie?"  (jogging  her  elbow.) 

"  I  will,"  cried  the  girl,  jumping  up  from  the  log,  and  run- 
nisig  into  the  house. 

"  Well,  that  bargain's  made,"  said  the  lover,  rubbing  his 
hands ;  "  and  now,  oie'll  go  and  bid  measter  and  missus  good- 
buoy." 

The  poor  fellow's  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  for  the  children, 
who  loved  him  very  much,  clung,  crying,  about  his  knees. 


100 


koughixg  it  i.\  rut:  iwsn. 


"God  bless  yees  all,"  s()bl)i'(]  the  kind-hearted  eroatiiro, 
"  Doan't  forget  Jacob,  for  he'll  neaver  forget  you.  Good, 
buoy  !" 

Tlicn  tuniing  to  Mary,  he  threw  his  arms  round  her  neck, 
and  bestowed  upon  her  fair  cheek  the  most  audible  kiss  1 
ever  heard. 

"  And  doan't  you  forget  mo,  Meary.  In  two  years  oie 
will  bo  back  to  marry  you;  and  maybe  oie  may  come  back 
a  rich  man." 

Mary,  who  was  an  exceedingly  pretty  girl,  shed  some  tears 
at  the  parting ;  but  in  a  few  days  she  was  as  gay  as  ever,  and 
listening  with  great  attention  to  tho  praises  oestowed  upon  her 
beauty  by  an  old  bachelor,  who  was  her  senior  by  fivc-and- 
twenty  years.  But  then  he  had  a  good  farm,  a  saddle  mare, 
and  plenty  of  stock,  and  was  reputed  to  have  saved  money. 
The  saddle  mare  seemed  to  have  great  weight  in  old  Ralph 

T h's  wooing ;  and  I  used  laughingly  to  remind  Mary  of 

her  absent  lover,  and  beg  her  not  to  marry  Ralph  T—  — h'n 
maro. 


^ 


i 


THE  LITTLE  STUMPY  MAN, 


101 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    LITTLK    STUMPY     MAN. 

BEFORE  I  dismiss  for  ever  the  troubles  and  sorrows  of 
1830,  I  would  fiiln  introduce  to  the  notice  of  my  readers 
some  of  the  odd  characters  v.-ith  whom  we  became  acquainted 
during  that  period.  The  first  that  starts  vividly  to  my  recol- 
lection  is  the  picture  of  a  short,  stumpy,  thicl<-set  man — a 
British  sailor,  too — who  came  to  stay  one  night  under  our 
roof,  and  took  quiet  possession  of  his  quarters  for  nine 
months,  and  whom  we  were  obliged  to  tolerate  from  the 
simple  fact  that  we  could  not  get  rid  of  him. 

During  the  fall,  Moodie  had  met  this  individual  (whom  I 
will  call  Mr.  Malcolm)  in  the  mail-coach,  going  up  to  Toronto. 
Amused  with  his  eccentric  and  blunt  manners,  and  finding 
him  a  shrewd,  clever  fellow  in  conversation,  Moodie  told  him 
that  if  ever  he  came  into  his  part  of  the  world  he  should  be 
glad  to  renew  their  acquaintance.  And  so  they  parted,  with 
mutual  good-will,  as  men  often  part  who  have  travelled  a  long 
journey  in  good  fellowship  together,  without  thinking  it  prob 
able  they  should  ever  meet  again. 

The  sugar  season  had  just  commenced  with  the  spring 
thaw ;  Jacob  had  tapped  a  few  trees  in  order  to  obtain  sap 
to  make  molasses  for  the  children,  when  his  plans  were  frus- 
trated by  the  illness  of  my  husband,  who  was  again  attacked 
with  the  ague.  Towards  the  close  of  a  wet,  sloppy  night, 
while  Jacob  was  in  the  wood,  chopping,  and  our  servant  gone 


1- 


102 


ROUOHINO  !I  JN  THE  BUSH. 


to  my  sister,  who  was  ill,  to  help  to  wash,  as  I  was  busj 
baking  bread  for  tea,  my  attention  was  aroused  by  a  violent 
knocking  at  the  door,  and  the  furious  barking  of  our  dog, 
Hector.  I  ran  to  open  it,  when  I  found  Hector's  teeth 
clenched  in  the  trowsers  of  a  little,  dark,  thick-set  man,  who 
said  in  a  gruff  voice, 

"  Call  off ;  our  dog.  What  the  devil  do  you  keep  such  an 
infernal  brute  about  the  house  for  1  Is  it  to  bite  people  who 
come  to  see  you  ?" 

Hector  was  the  best-behaved,  best-tempered  animal  in  the 
woiid  ;  he  might  have  been  called  a  gentlemanly  dog.  So 
little  was  there  of  the  unmannerly  puppy  in  his  behaviour, 
that  I  was  perfectly  astonished  at  his  ungracious  conduct.  I 
caught  him  by  the  collar,  and  not  without  some  difficulty, 
succeeded  'm\  dragging  him  off. 

"  Is  Captain  Moodie  within  ?"  said  the  stranger. 

"  He  is,  sir.     But  he  is  ill  in  bed — too  ill  to  be  seen." 

"  Tell  him  a  friend,"  (he  laid  a  strong  stress  upon  the  last 
word,)  "  a  particular  friend  must  speak  to  him." 

I  now  turned  my  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  speaker  with  some 
curiosity.  I  had  taken  him  for  a  mechanic,  from  his  dirty, 
slovenly  appearance ;  and  his  physiognomy  was  so  unpleasant 
that  I  did  not  credit  his  assertion  that  he  was  a  friend  of  my 
husband,  for  I  was  certaia  that  no  man  who  possessed  such  a 
forbidding  aspect  could  be  regarded  by  Moodie  as  a  friend. 
I  was  about  to  deliver  his  message,  but  the  moment  I  let  go 
Hector's  collar,  the  dog  was  at  him  again. 

"  Don't  strike  him  with  your  stick,"  I  cried,  throwing  my 
tirnis  over  the  faithful  creature.  "  He  is  a  powerful  animal, 
and  if  you  provoke  him,  he  will  kill  you." 

I  at  last  succeeded  in  coaxing  Hector  into  the  girl's  room, 
v/here  I  shut  him  up,  while  the  stranger  came  into  the  kitchen, 
and  walked  to  the  fu'e  to  dry  his  wet  clothes. 


\ 


THE  LITTLE  STUMPY  MAN. 


lOS 


I  immediately  went  into  the  parlour,  where  Moodie  waa 
lying  upon  a  bed  near  the  stove,  to  deliver  the  stranger's  mes- 
sage ;  but  before  I  could  say  a  word,  he  dashed  in  after  me, 
and  going  up  to  the  bed  held  out  his  broad,  coarse  hand,  with, 
"  How  are  you,  Mr.  Moodie.  You  see  I  have  accepted  your 
kind  invitation  sooner  than  either  you  or  I  expected.  If  you 
will  give  me  house-room  for  the  night  I  shall  be  obliged  to 
you.*' 

This  was  said  in  a  low,  mysterious  voice ;  and  Moodie, 
who  was  still  struggling  with  the  hot  fit  of  his  disorder,  and 
whose  senses  were  not  a  little  confused,  stared  at  him  with  a 
look  of  vague  bewilderment.  The  countenance  of  the  stranger 
grew  dark. 

"  You  cannot  have  forgotten  me — my  name  is  Malcolm." 

"  Yes,  yes  :  1  remember  you  now,"  said  the  invalid,  holding 
01  it  his  burning,  feverish  hand.  To  my  home,  such  as  it  is, 
you  are  welcome." 

I  stood  by  in  wondering  astonishment,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other,  as  I  had  no  recollection  of  ever  hearing  my  hus- 
band mention  the  name  of  the  stranger ;  but  as  he  had  invited 
him  to  share  our  hospitality,  I  did  my  best  to  make  him  wel- 
come, though  in  what  manner  he  was  to  be  accommodated 
puzzled  me  not  a  little.  I  placed  the  arm-chair  by  the  fire, 
and  told  him  that  I  would  prepare  tea  for  him  as  soon  as  I 
could. 

"  It  may  be  as  well  to  tell  you,  Mrs.  Moodie,"  said  he 
sulkily,  for  he  was  evidently  displeased  by  my  husband's  want 
of  recognition  on  his  first  entrance,  "that  I  have  had  no 
dinner." 

I  sighed  to  myself,  for  I  well  knew  that  our  larder  boasted 
of  no  dainties ;  and  from  the  animal  expression  of  our  guest'a 
(ace,  I  rightly  judged  that  he  was  fond  of  good  living. 

By  the  time  I  had  fried  a  rasher  of  salt  pork,  and  made  a 


1^ 


104 


MOUOIIim  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


Iff.. 
\\  \  ■ . 


1 


pot  of  dandelion  coffee,  the  bread  I  had  been  preparing  \^aa 
baked  :  but  grown  flour  will  not  make  light  bread,  and  it  was 
unusually  heavy.  For  the  first  time  I  felt  heartily  ashamed 
of  our  humble  fare.  I  was  sure  that  he  for  whom  it  was  pro 
vided  was  not  one  to  pass  it  over  in  benevolent  silence.  "  He 
might  be  a  gentleman,"  I  thought,  "but  he  does  not  look  like 
one ;"  and  a  confused  idea  of  who  he  was,  and  where  Moodie 
had  met  with  him,  began  to  float  through  my  mind.  I  did 
not  like  the  appearance  of  the  man,  but  I  consoled  myself  that 
he  was  only  to  stay  for  one  night,  and  I  could  give  up  my  bed 
for  that  one  night,  and  sleep  on  a  bed  on  the  floor  by  my  .sick 
husband.  When  I  re-entered  the  parlour  to  cover  the  table, 
I  found  Moodie  fallen  asleep,  and  Mr.  Malcolm  reading.  As 
I  placed  the  tea-things  on  the  table,  he  raised  his  head,  and 
regarded  me  with  a  gloomy  stare.  He  was  a  strange-looking 
creature ;  his  features  were  tolerably  regular,  his  complexion 
dark,  with  a  good  colour,  his  very  broad  and  round  head  was 
covered  with  a  perfect  mass  of  close,  black,  curling  hair,  which, 
in  growth,  texture,  and  hue,  resembled  the  wiry,  curly  hide 
of  a  water-dog.  His  eyes  and  mouth  were  both  well-shaped, 
but  gave,  by  their  sinister  expression,  an  odious  and  doubtful 
meaning  to  the  whole  of  his  physiognomy.  The  eyes  were 
cold,  insolent,  and  cruel,  and  as  green  as  the  eyes  of  a  cat. 
The  mouth  bespoke  a  sullen,  determined,  and  sneering  dispo- 
sition, as  if  it  belonged  to  one  brutally  obstinate,  one  who 
could  not  by  any  gentle  means  be  persuaded  from  his  pur- 
pose. Such  a  man  in  a  passion  would  have  been  a  terrible 
wild  beast ;  but  the  current  of  his  feelings  seemed  to  flow  in 
a  deep  sluggish  channel,  rather  than  in  a  violent  or  impetuous 
one  ;  and,  like  William  Penn,  when  he  reconnoitred  his  unwel- 
come visitors  through  the  keyhole  of  the  door,  I  looked  at  my 
strange  guest,  and  liked  him  not.  Perhaps  my  distant  and  eon- 
strained  manner  made  him  painfully  aware  of  the  fact,  for  I  am 


l!l> 


M 


THE  LITTLE  STUMPY  MAN. 


105 


certain  that,  from  that  first  hour  of  our  acquaintance,  a  deep- 
rooted  antipathy  existed  between  us,  which  time  seemed 
rather  to  strengcnen  than  diminish. 

He  ate  of  his  meal  sparingly,  and  with  evident  disgust ;  the 
cnly  remarks  which  dropped  from  him  were : 

"  You  make  bad  bread  in  the  bush.  Strange,  that  you  can't 
keep  your  potatoes  from  the  frost !  1  should  have  thought 
that  you  could  have  had  thuigs  more  comfortable  in  the 
■woods." 

"  We  have  been  very  unfortunate,"  I  said,  "  since  we  came 
to  the  woods.  I  am  sorry  that  you  should  be  obliged  to  share 
the  poverty  of  the  land.  It  would  have  given  me  much 
pleasure  could  I  have  set  before  you  a  more  comfortable 
meal." 

"  Ohj  don't  mention  it.  So  that  I  get  good  pork  and  pota- 
toes  I  shall  be  contented."  ^ 

What  did  these  words  imply  ? — an  extension  of  his  visit  ? 
I  hoped  that  I  was  mistaken  ;  but  before  I  could  lose  any  time 
in  conjecture  my  husband  awoke.  The  fit  had  left  him,  and 
he  rose  and  dressed  himself,  and  was  soon  chatting  cheerfully 
with  his  guest. 

Mr.  Malcolm  now  informed  him  that  he  was  hiding  from 

the  sheriff  of  the  N district's  oflRcers,  and  that  it  would 

be  conferring  upon  hinx  a  great  favour  if  he  would  allow  him 
to  remain  at  his  house  for  a  few  weeks. 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Malcolm,"  said  Moodie,  "  we  are 
so  badly  oflT  that  we  can  scarcely  find  food  for  ourselves  and 
the  children.  It  is  out  of  our  power  to  make  you  comfortable, 
or  to  keep  an  additional  hand,  without  he  is  willing  to  render 
some  little  help  on  the  farm.  If  you  can  do  this,  I  will  en- 
deavour to  get  a  few  necessaries  on  credit,  to  make  your  stay 
more  agreeable." 

To  this  proposition  Malcolm  readily  assented,  not  only 

VOL.  II.  5* 


106 


ROUGHIN'}  IT  IN  THE  BUSU. 


lit 


Mil  * 


^'i 


f\ 


it 


oecause  it  released  him  from  all  sei  se  of  obligation,  but  boi 
cause  it  gave  him  a  privilege  to  grumble. 

Finding  that  his  stay  might  extend  to  an  indefinite  period, 
I  got  Jacob  to  construct  a  rude  bedstead  out  of  two  large 
chests  that  had  transported  some  of  our  goods  across  the  At- 
lantic,  and  which  he  put  up  in  a  corner  of  the  parlour.  This 
I  provided  with  a  small  hair-mattress,  and  furnished  with  what 
bedding  I  could  spare. 

For  the  first  fortnight  of  his  sojourn,  our  guest  did  nothing 
but  lie  upon  that  bed,  and  read,  and  smoke,  and  drink  whls. 
key  and  water  from  morning  until  night.  By  degrees  he  let 
out  part  of  his  history ;  but  there  was  a  mystery  about  him 
which  he  took  good  care  never  to  clear  up.  He  was  the  son 
of  an  officer  in  the  navy,  wno  had  not  only  attained  a  very 
high  rank  in  the  service,  but,  fcr  his  gallant  conduct,  had  been 
made  a  Knight-Companiftn  of  the  Bath. 

He  had  himself  served  his  time  as  a  midshipman  onboard 
his  father's  flag-ship,  but  had  left  the  navy  and  accepted  a 
commission  in  the  Buenos-Ayrean  service  during  the  political 
struggles  in  that  province ;  he  had  commanded  a  sort  of  pri- 
vateer under  the  government,  to  whom,  by  his  own  account, 
he  had  rendered  many  very  signal  services.  Why  he  left 
South  America  and  came  to  Canada  he  kept  a  profound  secret. 
He  had  indulged  in  very  vicious  and  dissipated  courses  since 
he  came  to  the  province,  and  by  his  own  account  had  spent 
upwards  of  four  thousand  pounds,  in  a  manner  not  over  cred- 
itable to  himself.  Finding  that  his  friends  would  answer  his 
bills  no  longer,  he  took  possession  of  a  grant  of  larid  obtained 
through  his  father's  interest,  up  in  Hersey,  a  barren  township 
on  the  shores  of  Stony  Lake ;  and,  after  putting  up  his  shanty, 
and  expending  all  his  remaining  means,  he  found  that  he  did 
not  possess  one  acre  out  of  the  whole  four  hundred  that  would 
yield  a  crop  of  potatoes.     He  was  now  considerably  in  debt^ 


1 


THE  LITTLE  STUMPY  MAN. 


lOT 


and  the  lands,  such  as  they  were,  had  been  seized,  with  all  hi«i 
eflects,  by  the  sheriff,  and  a  warrant  was  out  for  his  own  ap- 
prehension, which  he  contrived  to  elude  during  his  sojourn 
with  us.  Money  he  had  none ;  and,  beyond  the  dirty  fear- 
nought blue  seaman's  jacket  which  he  wore,  a  pair  of  trowsera 
of  the  coarse  cloth  of  the  country,  an  old  black  vest  that  had 
seen  better  days,  and  two  blue-checked  shirts,  clothes  he  had 
none.  He  shaved  but  once  a  week,  never  combed  his  hair, 
and  never  washed  himself.  A  dirtier  or  more  slovenly  crea- 
ture never  before  was  dignified  by  the  title  of  a  gentleman. 
He  was,  however,  a  man  of  good  education,  of  excellent 
abilities,  and  possessed  a  bitter,  sarcastic  knowledge  of  the 
world ;  but  he  was  selfish  and  unprincipled  in  the  Wghest 
degree. 

His  shrewd  observations  and  great  conversational  powere 
had  first  attracted  my  husband's  attention,  and,  as  men  seldom 
show  their  bad  qualities  on  a  journey,  he  thought  him  a  blunt, 
good  fellow,  who  had  travelled  a  great  deal,  and  could  render 
himself  a  very  agreeable  companion  by  a  graphic  relation  of 
his  adventures.  He  could  be  all  this,  when  he  chose  to  relax 
from  his  sullen,  morose  mood  ;  and,  much  as  I  disliked  him, 
I  have  listened  with  interest  for  hours  to  his  droll  descriptions 
of  South  American  life  and  manners. 

Naturally  indolent,  and  a  constitutional  grumbler,  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  Moodie  could  get  him  to  do 
any  thing  beyond  bringing  a  few  pails  of  water  from  the 
swamp  for  the  use  of  the  house,  and  he  has  often  passed  rne 
carrying  water  up  from  the  lake  without  offering  to  relieve 
me  of  the  burden,  Mary,  the  betrothed  of  Jacob,  called  him 
a  perfect  beast ;  but  he,  returning  good  for  evil,  considered 
her  a  very  pretty  girl,  and  paid  her  so  many  uncouth  atten- 
tions  that  he  roused  the  jealousy  of  honest  Jake,  who  vowed 
that  he  would  give  him  a  good  "  loomping"  if  he  only  dared 


r 


108 


ROUOrnXO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


!'■  ' 


to  lay  a  finger  upon  his  sweetheart.  With  Jacob  to  back  her, 
Mary  treated  the  "  zea-bear,"  as  .Tacob  termed  hi ni,  with  \'ah\ 
disdain,  and  was  so  saucy  to  him  that,  forgetting  his  admira- 
tion, he  declared  he  would  like  to  serve  her  as  the  Indians 
had  done  a  scolding  woman  in  South  America.  They  at 
tacked  her  house  during  the  absence  of  her  husband,  cut  out 
her  tongue,  and  nailed  it  to  the  door,  by  way  of  knocker ; 
and  he  thought  that  all  women  who  could  not  keep  a  civil 
tongue  in  their  head  should  be  served  in  the  same  manner. 

"  And  what  should  be  done  to  men  who  swear  and  use  on- 
dacent  language  f  quoth  Mary,  indignantly.  "  Their  tongues 
should  be  slit,  and  given  to  the  dogs.  Faugh !  You  are  such 
a  nasty  fellow  that  I  don't  think  Hector  would  eat  your 
tongue." 

"I'll  kill  that  beast,"  muttered  Malcolm,  as  he  walked 
away. 

I  remonstrated  with  him  on  the  iir* propriety  of  bandying 
words  with  our  servants.  "  You  see,"  I  said,  "  the  disrespect 
with  which  they  treat  you ;  and  if  they  presume  upon  your  fa- 
miliarity, to  speak  to  our  guest  in  this  contemptuous  manner, 
they  will  soon  extend  the  same  conduct  to  us." 

"  But,  Mrs.  Moodie,  you  should  reprove  them." 

"  I  cannot,  sir,  while  you  continue,  by  taking  liberties  with 
the  girl,  and  swearing  at  the  man,  to  provoke  them  to  retali- 
ation." 

"  Swearing !  What  harm  is  there  in  swearing  1  A  sailor 
cannot  live  without  oaths." 

"  But  a  gentleman  might.  Mr.  Malcolm.  I  should  be  sorry 
to  consider  you  in  any  other  light." 

"  Ah,  you  are  such  a  prude — so  methodistical — you  make 
no  allowance  for  circumstances !  Surely,  in  the  woods  we 
may  dispense  with  the  hypocritical,  conventional  forms  of 
society,  and  speak  and  act  as  we  please." 


L 


1 


THE  LITTLE  STUMPY  MAN. 


109 


"  So  you  seem  to  think  ;  but  you  see  the  result." 

"  I  have  never  been  used  to  the  society  of  ladies,  and  . 
cannot  fashion  my  words  to  please  them ;  and  I  won't,  vhat'a 
more !"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he  strode  off  to  Moodie  in 
the  field.  I  wished  from  my  very  heart  that  he  was  once 
more  on  the  deck  of  his  piratical  South  American  craft. 

One  night  he  insisted  on  going  out  in  the  canoe  to  spear 
muskinpnge  with  Moodie.  The  evening  turned  out  very  chill 
and  foggy,  and,  before  twelve,  they  returned,  with  only  one 
fish,  and  half  frozen  with  cold.  Malcolm  had  got  twinges  of 
rheumatism,  and  he  fussed,  and  sulked,  and  swore,  and  quar- 
relled with  every  body  and  every  thing,  until  Moodie,  who 
was  highly  amused  by  his  petulance,  advised  him  to  go  to  his 
bed,  and  pray  for  the  happy  restoration  of  his  temper. 

"  Temper  !"  he  cried,  "  I  don't  believe  there's  a  good-tem- 
pered  person  m  the  world.  It's  all  hypocrisy !  I  never  had  a 
good  temper !  My  mother  was  an  ill-tempered  woman,  and 
ruled  my  father,  who  was  a  confoundedly  severe,  domineering 
man.  I  was  bora  in  an  111  temper.  I  was  an  ill-tempered 
child ;  I  grew  up  an  ill-tempered  man.  I  feel  worse  than  ill 
tempered  now,  and  when  I  die  it  will  be  in  an  illtemper." 

"  Well,"  quoth  I,  "  Moodie  has  made  you  a  tumbler  of 
hot  punch,  which  may  help  to  drive  out  the  cold  and  the  ill 
temper,  and  cure  the  rheumatism." 

*'  Ay ;  your  husband's  a  good  fellow,  and  worth  two  of 
you,  Mrs.  Moodie.  He  makes  some  allowance  for  the  weak- 
ness of  human  nature,  and  can  excuse  even  my  ill  temper.'* 

1  did  not  choose  to  bandy  words  with  him,  and  the  next 
day  the  unfortunate  creature  was  shaking  ■wliii  Jke  ague.  A 
more  intractable,  outrageous,  zm-patient  I  never  had  the  ill 
fortune  to  nurse.  During  the  cold  fit,  he  did  nothing  but 
swear  at  the  cold,  and  wished  himself  roasting ;  and  during 
the  fever,  he  swore  at  the  heat,  and  wished  that  he  was  sitting, 


110 


ROUOUING  IT  IS  THE  RUSH. 


-i      y 


in  no  other  garment  than  his  shirt,  on  the  north  side  of  an  ice- 
berg.  And  when  the  fit  at  last  loft  him,  he  got  up,  and 
ate  such  quantities  of  fat  pork,  and  drank  so  much  whiskey- 
punch,  that  you  would  have  imagined  he  had  just  arrived 
from  a  long  journey,  and  had  not  tasted  food  for  a  couple  of 
days. 

He  would  not  believe  that  fishing  in  the  cold  night-air 
upon  the  water  had  made  him  ill,  but  raved  that  it  was  al'  my 
fault  for  having  laid  my  baby  down  on  his  bed  while  it  was» 
shaking  with  the  ague. 

Yet,  if  there  were  the  least  tenderness  mixed  up  in  his  iroi. 
nature,  it  was  the  affection  he  displayed  for  that  young  child. 
Dunbar  was  just  twenty  months  old,  with  bright,  dark  eyes, 
dimpled  cheeks,  and  soft,  flowing,  golden  hair,  which  fell 
round  his  infant  face  in  rich  curls.  The  merry,  confiding  little 
creature  formed  such  a  contrast  to  his  own  surly,  unyielding 
temper,  that,  perhaps,  that  very  circumstance  made  the  bond 
of  union  between  them.  When  in  the  hou«e,  t./.  kittle  boy 
was  seldom  out  of  his  arms,  and  whatever  were  Malcolm's 
faults,  he  had  none  in  the  eyes  of  the  child,  who  used  to  cling 
around  his  neck,  and  kiss  his  rough,  unshaven  cheeks  with  the 
greatest  fondness. 

"  If  I  could  afford  it,  Moodie,"  he  said  one  day  to  my  hus- 
band, "  I  should  like  to  marry.  I  want  some  one  upon  whom 
I  could  vent  my  affections."  And  wanting  that  some  one  in 
the  ^">rm  of  woman,  he  contented  himself  with  venting  them 
apon  the  child. 

As  the  spring  advanced,  and  after  Jacob  left  us,  he  seemed 
ashamed  of  sitting  in  the  house  doing  nothing,  and  therefore 
undertook  to  make  us  a  garden,  or  "  to  make  garden,"  as  the 
Canadians  term  preparing  a  few  vegetables  for  the  season 
I  procured  the  necessary  seeds,  and  watched  with  no  small 
surprise  the  industry  with  which  our  strange   visitor  com 


T 


THE  LITTLE  STUifPV  MAN. 


HI 


menced  operations.  lie  repaired  the  brolcen  fence.,  dug  the 
ground  with  the  greatest  care,  and  laid  it  out  with  a  skill  and 
neatness  of  which  I  had  believed  him  perfectly  incapable.  In 
less  than  three  weeks,  the  whole  plot  presented  a  very  pleas- 
ing prospect,  and  he  was  really  elated  by  his  success. 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  he,  "  we  shall  no  longer  be  starved  ox 
bad  flour  and  potatoes.  We  shall  have  peas,  and  beans,  and 
beets,  and  carrots,  and  cabbage  in  abundance ;  besides  tho 
plot  I  have  reserved  for  cucumbers  and  melons." 

"  Ah,"  thought  I,  "  does  he,  indeed,  mean  to  stay  with  us 
until  the  melons  are  ripe  1"  and  my  heart  died  within  me,  for 
he  not  only  was  a  great  additional  expense,  but  lie  gave  a 
great  deal  of  additional  trouble,  and  entirely  robbed  us  of  all 
privacy,  as  our  very  parlour  was  converted  into  a  bedroom 
for  his  accommodation ;  besides  that,  a  man  of  his  singularly 
dirty  habits  made  a  very  disagreeable  inmate. 

The  only  redeeming  point  in  his  character,  in  my  eyes, 
was  his  love  for  Dunbar.  I  could  not  entirely  hate  a  man 
who  was  so  fondly  attached  to  my  child.  To  the  two  little 
girls  he  was  very  cross,  and  often  chased  them  from  him  with 
Hows.  He  had,  too,  an  odious  way  of  finding  fault  with 
every  thing.  I  never  could  cook  to  please  him ;  and  he  tried 
in  the  most  malicious  way  to  induce  Moodie  to  join  in  his 
complaints.  All  his  schemes  to  make  strife  between  us,  how- 
ever, failed,  and  were  generally  visited  upon  himself.  In  no 
way  did  ne  ever  seek  to  render  me  the  least  assistance. 
Shortly  after  Jacob  left  us,  Mary  Price  was  offered  higher 
wages  by  a  family  at  Peterborough,  and  for  some  time  I  was 
left  with  four  little  children,  and  without  a  servant.  Moodie 
always  milked  the  cows,  because  I  never  could  overcome  my 
fear  of  cattle ;  and  though  I  had  occasionally  milked  when 
there  was  no  one  else  in  the  way,  it  was  ir.  fear  and  trembling. 
Moodie  had  to  go  down  to  Peterborough ;  but  before  he 


/' 


r#  ■ 
K--  ■ 

fe-.  ^' 


il2 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUHII 


!iK-     a 


went,  he  begged  Malcolm  to  bring  me  what  water  and  woo(^ 
I  required,  and  to  stand  by  the  cattle  while  I  milked  the  cows, 
and  he  would  himself  be  home  before  night.  lie  started  at 
six  m  the  morning,  and  I  got  the  pail  to  go  and  milk.  Mai- 
colm  was  lying  upon  his  bed,  reading. 

"  Mr.  Malcolm,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  go  with  me  to 
*he  fields  for  a  few  minutes  while  I  milk  T 

"Yes  !"  (then,  with  a  sulky  frown,)  "but  I  want  to  finish 
what  I  am  reading." 

"  I  will  not  detain  you  long." 

"  Oh,  no !  I  suppose  about  an  hour.  You  are  a  shocking 
bad  milker." 

"True;  I  never  went  near  a  cow  until  I  came  to  this 
country ;  and  1  have  never  been  able  to  overcome  my  fear 
of  them." 

"  More  shame  for  you !  A  farmer's  wife,  and  afraid  of  a 
cow !     Why,  these  little  children  would  laugh  at  you." 

I  did  not  reply,  nor  would  I  ask  him  again.  I  walked 
slowly  to  the  field,  and  my  indignation  made  me  forget  my 
fear.  I  had  just  finished  milking,  and  with  a  brimming  pail 
was  preparing  to  climb  the  fence  and  return  to  the  house, 
when  a  very  wild  ox  we  had  came  running  with  headlong 
speed  from  the  wood.  All  my  fears  were  alive  again  in  a 
moment.  I  snatched  up  the  pail,  and,  instead  of  climbing  the 
fence  and  getting  to  tl  b  house,  I  ran  with  all  the  speed  I  could 
command  down  the  steep  hill  towards  the  lake  shore ,  my 
feet  caught  in  a  root  of  the  many  tumps  in  the  path,  and  I 
fell  to  the  ground,  my  pail  rolling  many  yards  ahead  of  me. 
Every  drop  of  my  milk  was  spilt  upon  the  grass.  The  ox 
passed  on.  I  gathered  myself  up  and  leturnecl  home.  Mai- 
colm  was  very  fond  of  new  milk,  anvi  )m»  ca.ii<='  .V  n^^y  «>^  V« 
thfc  door. 

"  Hi !  hi !— Where's  the  mill*  T 


\ 


7ITE  LITTLE  STUMPY  MAN. 


113 


"  No  milk  for  the  poor  children  to-day,"  said  I,  showing 
nim  the  inside  of  the  piiii,  with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  the  head, 
for  it  was  no  small  loss  to  them  and  mo. 

"  How  the  devil's  that  \  So  you  were  afraid  to  milk  the 
cows.     Come  away,  and  I  will  keep  ofl'  the  buggabooa." 

"I  did  milk  them — no  thanks  to  your  kindness,  Mr.  Mal- 
colm— but — " 

"But  what r 

"  The  ox  frightened  me,  and  I  fell  and  spilt  all  the  milk." 

"Whew!  Now  don't  go  and  tell  your  husband  that  it 
was  all  my  fault ;  if  you  had  had  a  little  patience,  I  would 
have  come  when  you  asked  me,  but  I  don't  choose  to  be  dic- 
tated to,  and  I  won't  be  made  a  slave  by  you  or  any  one 
else." 

"  Then  why  do  you  stay,  sir,  where  you  consider  yourself 
so  treated "?"  said  I.  "  We  are  all  obliged  to  work  to  obtain 
bread ;  we  give  you  the  best  share — surely  the  return  we  ask 
for  it  is  but  small." 

"You  make  me  feel  my  obligations  to  you  when  you  ask 
me  to  do  any  thing ;  if  you  left  it  to  my  better  feelings  we 
should  get  on  better." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  will  never  ask  you  to  do  any 
thing  for  me  in  future," 

"  Oh,  now,  that's  all  mock  humility.  In  spite  of  the  tears 
in  your  eyes,  you  are  as  angry  with  me  as  ever ;  but  don't 
go  to  make  mischief  between  me  and  Moodie.  If  you'll  say 
nothing  about  my  refusing  to  go  with  you,  I'll  milk  the  cows 
for  you  myself  to-night." 

"  And  can  you  milk  ?"  said  I,  v  ith  some  curiosity. 

"Milk!  Yes;  and  if  I  were  not  so  confoundedly  low- 
spirited  and lazy,  I  could  do  a  thousand  other  things  too 

But  now,  don't  say  a  word  about  it  to  Moodie." 
I  made  no  pro'i  jse ;  but  my  respect  for  him  wa3  not  ift 


114 


ROUOIUNO  IT  IN  THE  liUsn. 


4  ■ 


r  i 


creased  by  his  cowardly  fear  of  reproof  from  Moodie,  Mhc 
treated  hliii  with  a  kindness  and  consideration  which  ho  did 
not  deserve.  The  afternoon  turned  out  very  wet,  and  I  was 
sorry  that  I  should  bo  troubled  with  his  company  all  day  in 
tho  house.  I  was  making  a  shirt  for  Moodie  from  aomo 
cotton  that  had  boon  sent  nie  from  home,  and  ho  placed  him- 
self by  tho  side  of  tlie  stove,  just  op[)osite,  and  continued  tc 
regard  me  for  a  long  time  with  his  usual  sullen  stare.  I 
really  felt  half  afraid  of  him. 

"  Don't  you  think  me  mad  ?"  said  he.  "  I  have  a  brother 
derang^id ;  he  got  a  stroke  of  the  sun  in  India,  and  lost  his 
senses  in  consequence ;  but  sometimes  I  think  it  runs  in  the 
family." 

What  answer  could  I  give  to  this  speech,  but  mere  evasive 
nommonplace  ] 

"  You  won't  say  what  you  really  think,"  he  continued ; 
"I  know  you  hate  me,  and  that  makes  me  dislike  you.  Now 
what  would  you  say  if  I  told  you  I  had  committed  a  murder, 
and  that  it  was  the  recollection  of  that  circumstance  that  made 
me  at  times  so  restless  and  unhappy  ?" 

I  looked  up  in  his  face,  not  knowing  what  to  believe. 

"  'Tis  fact,"  said  he,  nodding  his  head ;  and  I  hoped  that 
he  would  not  go  mad,  like  his  brother,  and  kill  me. 

"  Come,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it ;  I  know  the  world  would 
laugh  at  me  for  calling  such  an  act  murder  ;  and  yet  1  have 
been  such  a  miserable  man  ever  since,  that  I  feel  it  was. 

"There  was  a  noted  leader  among  the  rebel  Buenog. 
Ayreans,  whom  the  government  wanted  much  to  get  hold  of. 
lie  was  a  fine,  dashing,  handsome  fellow ;  I  had  often  seeu 
him,  but  we  never  came  to  close  quarters.  One  night,  I  was 
lying  wrapped  up  in  my  poncho  at  the  bott^,  n  of  my  boat, 
which  was  rocking  in  the  surf,  waiting  for  two  of  my  men, 
who  were  gone  on  shore.    There  came  to  the  shore,  this  man 


( 


!i_' 


THE  LITTLE  STUMPY  JfAX 


Hi 


that 

roiild 
have 

tenoa* 

[id  of. 

seeu 

II  vras 

boat, 

men, 

man 


and  one  of  his  people,  and  they  stood  so  near  the  boat,  which 
1  suppose  they  thought  empty,  that  I  could  distinctly  hear 
their  con  versa  I  ion.  1  sui)pose  it  was  the  devil  who  tomi)tvd 
me  to  put  a  bullet  through  that  man's  heart.  lie  was  an 
enemy  to  the  flag  under  which  I  fought,  but  he  was  no  enemy 
to  me — I  liad  no  right  to  become  his  executioner ;  but  still 
the  desire  to  kill  him,  for  the  mere  deviltry  of  the  thing,  came 
80  sirongly  upon  me  that  I  no  longer  tried  to  resist  it.  I  roso 
slowly  upon  my  knees ;  the  moon  was  shining  very  bright  at 
the  time,  both  he  and  his  companion  were  Ux*  earnestly 
engaged  to  see  me,  and  I  deliberately  shot  him  through  the 
body.  He  fell  with  a  heavy  groan  back  into  the  water  ;  but 
I  caught  the  last  look  he  threw  up  to  the  moonlight  skies  be- 
fore his  eyes  glazed  in  death.  Oh,  that  look ! — so  full  of 
despair,  of  unutterable  anguish ;  it  haunts  me  yet — it  will 
haunt  me  for  ever.  I  would  not  have  cared  if  I  had  killed 
him  in  strife — but  in  cold  blood,  and  he  so  unsuspicious  of  his 
doom  !  Yes,  it  was  murder ;  I  know  by  this  constant  tugging 
at  my  heart  that  it  was  murder.     What  do  you  say  to  it?" 

"  I  should  think  as  you  do,  Mr.  Malcolm.  It  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  take  away  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature  without  the 
least  provocation." 

"Ah  !  I  knew  you  would  blame  me  ;  but  he  was  an  enemy 
after  all ;  I  had  a  right  to  kill  him ;  I  was  hired  by  the  gov- 
ernment under  whom  I  served  to  kill  him :  and  who  shall 
condemn  me  V 

"  No  one  more  than  your  own  heart." 

"  It  is  not  the  heart,  but  the  brain,  that  must  decide  ui 
questions  of  right  and  wrong,"  said  he.  "  I  acted  from  im- 
pulse,  and  shot  the  man ;  had  I  reasoned  upon  it  for  five 
minutes,  that  man  would  be  living  now.  But  what's  don«? 
cannot  be  undone.  j)id  1  ever  show  you  the  work  I  wrot« 
upuii  ^5outh  America?" 


r^ 


116 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUtiH. 


■}\\ 


>?" 


t~ 


"  Are  you  an  author,"  said  I,  incredulously. 

"To  be  sure  I  am.  Murray  offered  me  £100  for  my 
manuscript,  but  I  would  not  take  it.  Shall  I  read  to  you 
some  passages  from  it  ?" 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  his  behaviour  in  the  morning  was 
uppermost  in  my  thoughts,  and  I  had  no  repugnance  m  re- 
fusing. 

"  No,  don't  trouble  yourself.  I  have  the  dinner  to  cook, 
and  the  children  to  attend  to,  which  will  cause  a  constant  in- 
terruption ;  you  had  better  defer  it  to  some  other  time." 

"  I  shan't  ask  you  to  listen  to  me  again,"  said  he,  with  a 
look  of  offended  vanity ;  but  he  went  to  his  trunk,  and 
brought  out  a  large  MS.,  written  on  foolscap,  which  he 
commenced  reading  to  himself  with  an  air  of  great  selt 
importance,  glancing  from  time  to  tim3  at  me,  and  smiling 
disdainfully.  Oh,  how  glad  I  was  when  the  door  opened,  and 
the  return  of  Moodie  broke  up  this  painful  tete-a-tete. 

From  the  sublime  to  the  ridiculous  is  but  a  step.  The 
very  next  day,  Mr.  Malcolm  made  his  appearance  before  me 
wrapped  in  a  great-coat  belonging  to  my  husband,  which 
literally  came  down  to  his  heels.  At  this  strange  apparition, 
I  fell  a-laughing. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Mrs.  Moodie,  lend  me  a  pair  of  inex- 
pressibles. I  have  met  with  an  accident  in  crossing  the  fence, 
and  mine  are  torn  to  shreds — gone  to  the  devil  entirely." 

"  Well,  don't  swear.     I'll  see  what  can  be  done  for  you.*' 

I  brought  him  a  new  pair  of  fine,  drab-coloured  kerseymere 
trowsers  that  had  never  been  worn.  Although  he  was  elo 
quent  in  his  thanks,  I  had  no  idea  that  he  meant  to  keep  thei 
for  his  sole  individual  use  from  that  day  thencefofth.  Bjf 
after  all,  what  was  the  man  to  do  %  He  had  no  tro<^tf<irs,  and 
no  money,  and  he  could  not  take  to  the  woods.  Certainlj 
his  loss  was  not  our  gain.     It  was  the  old  proverb  TC<^ersed 


THE  LITTLE  STUMP V  MAX. 


ni 


my 

you 

was 
a  re- 

cook, 

nt  in- 

> 

vith  a 
;,  and 
ch  he 
t  self- 
miling 
id,  and 

The 

,re  me. 

which 

arition, 

)f  inex- 
e  fence, 

y." 
you." 

eymere 
vas  elo 
p  thei 
h.  Bdt 
lers,  and 
^rtainlj 
rsed 


r.t^: 


The  season  for  putting  in  the  potatoes  had  now  arrived. 
Malcolm  volunteered  to  cut  the  sets,  which  was  easy  work 
that  could  be  done  in  the  house,  and  over  which  he  could 
lounge  and  smoke ;  but  Moodie  told  him  that  he  must  take  his 
share  in  the  field,  that  I  had  already  sets  enough  saved  tc 
plant  half-an-acre,  and  would  have  more  prepared  by  the  time 
they  were  required.  With  many  growls  and  shrugs,  he  felt 
obliged  to  comply ;  and  he  performed  his  part  pretty  well, 
the  execrations  bestowed  upon  the  mosquitoes  and  black-flies 
forming  a  sort  of  safety-valve  to  let  off  the  concentrated  venom 
of  his  temper.  When  he  came  in  to  dinner,  he  held  out  his 
hands  to  me. 

"  Look  at  these  hands." 

"  They  are  blistered  with  the  hoe." 

"  Look  at  my  face." 

"  You  are  terribly  disfigured  by  the  black-flies.  But 
Moodie  suffers  just  as  much,  and  says  nothing." 

"Bah! — ^The  only  consolat.on  one  feels  for  such  annoy- 
ances is  to  complain.  Oh,  the  woods ! — the  cursed  woods  ! — 
how  I  wish  I  were  out  of  them."  The  day  was  very  warm, 
but  in  the  afternoon  I  w  is  surprised  by  a  visit  from  an  old 

maiden  lady,  a  friend  of  mine  from  C .     She  had  walked 

up  with  a  Mr.  Crowe,  from  Peterborough,  a  young,  brisk- 
looking  farmer,  in  breeches  and  top-boots,  just  out  from  the 
old  country,  who,  naturally  enough,  thought  he  would  like  to 
roost  among  the  woods. 

He  was  a  little,  lively,  good-natured  manny,  ^vith  a  real 
Anglo-Saxon  face, — rosy,  high  check-boned,  with  full  lips,  and 
a  turned-up  nose ;  and,  like  most  little  men,  was  a  great 
talker,  and  very  full  of  himself.  He  had  belonged  to  the 
secondary  class  of  farmers,  and  was  very  vulgar,  both  in 
person  and  manners.  I  had  just  prepared  tea  for  my  visitors, 
when  Malcolm  and  Moodie  returned  from  the  field.     ITitro 


1/ 


118 


HOUOHL\0  IT  IN  THE  BITSH. 


I, 


was  no  affectation  about  the  former.  He  was  manly  m  hii 
person,  and  blunt  even  to  rudeness,  and  I  saw  by  the  quizzical 
look  which  he  cast  upon  the  spruce  lit':le  Crowe  that  he  was 
quietly  quizzing  him  from  head  to  heel.  A  neighbour  had 
sent  me  a  present  of  maple  mola-^ses,  and  Mr.  Crowe  was  so 
fearful  of  spilling  some  of  the  rich  syrup  upon  his  drab  shorts 
that  he  spread  a  large  pocket-handkerchief  over  his  knees,  and 
tucked  another  under  his  chin.  I  felt  very  much  inclined  to 
laugh,  but  restrained  the  inclination  as  well  as  I  could — and 
if  the  little  creature  would  have  sat  still,  1  could  have  quelled 
my  rebellious  propensity  altogether;  but  up  he  would  jump 
at  every  word  I  said  to  him,  and  make  me  a  low,  jerking  bow, 
often  with  his  mouth  quite  full,  and  the  treacherous  molasses 
running  over  his  chin. 

Malcolm  sat  directly  opposite  to  me  and  my  volatile  next- 
door  neighbour.  Ho  saw  the  intense  d  '>;<••  ilty  1  had  to  keep 
my  gravity,  and  was  determined  to  m'\ki\  r-ie  laugh  out.  So, 
coming  slyly  behind  my  chair,  he  whispered  in  my  ear,  with 
the  gravity  of  a  judge,  "  Mrs.  Moodie,  that  must  have  been 
the  very  chap  who  first  jumped  Jim  Crowe." 

This  appeal  obliged  me  to  run  from  the  table.  Moodie 
was  astonished  at  my  rudeness  ;  and  Malcolm,  as  he  resumed 
his  seat,  made  the  matter  worse  by  saying,  ''  I  wonder  what 
is  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Moodie ;  she  is  certainly  very  hys- 
terical this  afternoon." 

The  potatoes  were  planted,  and  the  season  of  strawber- 
ries, green  peas,  and  young  potatoes  come,  but  still  Malcolm 
remained  our  constant  guest.  He  had  grown  so  indolent,  and 
gave  himself  so  many  airs,  that  Moodie  was  heartily  sick  of 
his  company,  and  gave  him  many  gentle  hints  to  change  his 
quarters ;  but  our  guest  was  determined  to  take  no  hint.  For 
some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  perhaps  out  of  sheer  con- 
tradiction, which  formed  one  great  element  in  his  character, 


THE  LITTLE  STUMPY  JJ.tX. 


UH 


been 


he  seemed  obstinately  bent  upon  remaining  where  he  vras, 
Moodie  was  busy  under-bushing  for  a  full  fallow.  Malcolm 
spent  much  of  his  time  in  the  garden,  or  lounging  about  the 
house.  I  had  baked  an  eel-pie  for  dinner,  which  if  prepared 
well  is  by  no  means  an  uasavoury  dish.  Malcolm  had  cleaned 
some  green  peas,  and  washed  the  first  young  potatoes  we  had 
drawn  that  season,  with  his  own  hands,  and  he  was  reckoning 
upon  the  feast  he  should  have  on  the  potatoes  with  childish 
glee.  The  dinner  at  length  was  put  upon  the  table.  The 
vegetables  were  remarkably  fine,  and  the  pie  looked  very 
nice. 

Moodie  helped  Malcolm,  as  he  always  did,  very  largely, 
and  the  other  covered  his  plate  with  a  portion  of  peas  and 
potatoes,  when,  lo  and  behold  !  my  gentleman  began  making 
a  very  wry  face  at  the  pie. 

"  What  an  infernal  dish  !"  he  cried,  pushing  away  his  plate 
with  an  air  of  great  disgust.  "  These  eels  taste  as  if  they  had 
been  stewed  in  oil.  Moodie,  you  should  teach  your  wife  to 
be  a  better  cook." 

The  hot  blood  burnt  upon  Moodie's  cheek.  I  saw  indigna- 
tion blazing  in  his  eye. 

"  If  you  don't  like  what  is  prepared  for  you,  sir,  you  may 
leave  the  table,  and  my  house,  if  you  please.  I  will  put  up 
with  your  ungentlemanly  and  ungrateful  conduct  to  Mrs, 
Moodie  no  longer." 

Out  stalked  the  offending  party.  I  thought,  to  be  sure,  we 
had  got  rid  of  him ;  and  though  he  deserved  what  was  said 
to  him,  I  was  sorry  for  him.  Moodie  took  his  dinner,  quietly 
remarking,  "  I  wonder  he  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  leave 
those  fine  peas  and  potatoes." 

He  then  went  back  to  his  work  in  the  bush,  and  I  cleared 
flway  the  dishes,  and  churned,  for  I  wanted  butter  for  tea. 

About  four  o'clock,  Mr.  Malcolm  entered  the  room.   "  Mra» 


r> 


I 


1 

; 

1 

1' 
j 

1 

u, 

ii 

iU      Ki 


If 

•     'i 

% 

1 

i 

i'1 

E:. 

■1 

i 
ii 

1 

1 

P'' 

! 

1^^*'' 

'  ■      in 

fe' 

^' -1 

-; 

' 

■  11 

;r, 

■••    -Ii 

i;^ 

ii 

n 

f  v'                              i 

iH 

■■  i  ■  ■ ' 

■t^H 

r  ' 

i;  ■■ 

fl 

'*> 


n: 


130 


BOCro/IJAtf   IT  LV  TllK  BUSH. 


Moodie,"  said  ht,  in  a  more  cheerful  voice  than  usual,  "where's 
the  boss?" 

"In  the  wood,  under-bushirg."  I  felt  dreadfully  afraid 
that  there  would  be  blows  between  them. 

"  I  hope,  Mr.  Malcolm,  tluV  you  are  not  going  to  him  with 
any  intention  of  a  fresh  quarrel." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  have  been  punished  enough  by  losing 
my  dinner  V  said  he,  with  a  grin.  "  I  don't  think  we  shall 
murder  one  another."  He  shouldered  his  axe,  and  went  whist- 
ling away. 

After  striving  for  a  long  while  to  stifle  my  foolish  fears,  I 
took  the  baby  in  my  arms,  and  little  Dunbar  by  the  hand 
and  ran  up  to  the  bush  where  Moodie  was  at  work. 

At  first  I  only  saw  my  husband,  but  the  strokes  of  an  axe 
at  a  little  distance  soon  guided  my  eyes  to  the  spot  where 
Malcolm  was  working  away,  as  if  for  dear  life.  Moodie 
smiled,  and  looked  at  me  significantly. 

"How  could  the  fellow  stomach  what  I  said  to  him? 
Either  great  necessity  or  great  meanness  must  be  the  cause 
of  his  knocking  under.  I  do^i't  know  whether  most  to  pity  or 
despise  him." 

"  Put  up  with  it,  dearest,  for  thii^  once.  He  is  not  happy, 
and  must  be  greatly  distressed." 

Malcolm  kept  aloof,  ever  and  anon  casting  a  furtive  glance 
towards  us ;  at  last  little  Dunbar  ran  to  him,  and  held  up  his 
arms  to  be  kissed.  The  strange  man  snatched  him  to  his 
bosom,  and  covered  him  with  caresses.  It  might  be  love  to 
the  child  that  had  quelled  his  sullen  spirit,  or  he  might  really 
have  cherished  an  affection  for  us  deeper  than  his  ugly  temper 
would  allow  him  to  show.  At  all  events,  he  joined  us  at  tea 
as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  we  might  truly  say  that  he  had 
obtained  a  new  lease  of  his  long  vis't.  But  what  could  not  be 
effected  by  words  or  hints  of  ours  was  brought  about  a  few 


FHS  LITTLE  STUMP y  MAK. 


12) 


'  where's 

y  afraid 

lim  with 

►y  losing 
we  shall 
nt  whist- 

1  fears,  I 
tie  hand 

f  an  axe 

ot  where 

Moodic 

to  him? 
tie  cause 
3  pity  or 

•t  happy, 

'■e  glance 
Id  up  his 
n  to  his 
love  to 
ht  really 
yr  temper 
us  at  tea 
at  he  had 
d  not  be 
>ut  a  few 


J 


days  after  by  the  silly  observation  of  a  child.  He  asked  Katie 
to  give  him  a  kiss,  and  he  would  gi^e  her  some  raspberries 
he  had  gathered  in  the  bush, 

"  I  don't  want  them.  Go  awi^y ;  I  don't  like  you,  you  lit 
tie  stumpy  man  /" 

His  rage  knew  no  bounds.     He  pushed  the  child  from 

him,  and  vowed  that  he  would  leave  the  house  that  moment 

that  she  could  not  have  thought  of  such  an  expression  herself; 
she  must  have  been  taught  it  by  uy.  This  was  an  entire  mis- 
conception on  his  part ;  but  he  would  not  be  convinced  that 
he  was  wrong.  Off  he  went,  and  Moodie  called  after  him, 
"  Malcolm,  as  I  am  sending  to  Peterborough  to-morrow,  the 
man  shall  take  in  your  trunk."  He  was  too  angry  even  to 
turn  and  bid  us  good-bye ;  but  we  had  not  seen  the  last  of 
him  yet.  Two  months  after,  we  were  taking  tea  with  a 
neighbour,  who  lived  a  mile  below  us  on  the  small  lake. 
Who  should  walk  in  but  Mr.  Malcolm  ?  He  greeted  us  with 
great  warmth  for  him,  and  when  we  rose  to  take  leave,  he  rose 
and  walked  home  by  our  side.  "Surely  the  Uttle  stumpy 
man  is  not  returning  to  his  old  quarters  ?"  I  am  still  a  babe 
in  the  affairs  of  men.  Human  nature  has  more  strange  va- 
rieties than  any  one  menagerie  can  contam,  and  Malcolm  was 
one  of  the  oddest  of  her  odd  species. 

That  night  he  slept  in  his  old  bed  below  the  parlour  win- 
dow,  and  for  three  months  afterwards  he  stuck  to  us  like  a 
beaver.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  more  kindly,  or  we  had 
got  more  used  to  his  eccentricities,  and  let  him  have  his  own 
way  ;  certainly  he  behaved  himself  much  better.  He  neither 
scolded  the  children  nor  interfered  with  the  maid,  nor  quar- 
relled with  me.  He  had  greatly  discontinued  his  bad  habit 
of  swearing,  and  he  talked  of  himself  and  his  future  prospects 
with  more  hope  and  self-respect.  His  father  had  promised 
to  !«end  him  a  fresh  supply  of  money,  and  he  proposed  to  huv 

VOL.   II,  6 


1-vV', 


122 


ROTJaHINQ  IT  IN  THE  BUSK 


of  Moodie  the  clergy  reserve,  and  that  they  should  farm  the 
two  places  on  shares.  This  offer  was  received  with  great 
joy,  as  an  unlooked-for  means  of  paying  our  debts,  and  ex- 
tricating ourselves  from  present  and  overwhelming  difficulties, 
and  we  looked  upon  the  little  stumpy  man  in  the  light  of  a 
benefactor. 

So  matters  continued  until  Christmas-eve,  when  our 
visitor  proposed  walking  into  Peterborough,  in  order  to  give 
the  children  a  treat  of  raisins  to  make  a  Christmas  pudding. 

"  We  will  be  quite  merry  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  I  hope 
we  shall  eat  many  Christmas  dinners  together,  and  continue 
good  friends." 

He  started,  after  breakfast,  with  the  promise  of  coming 
back  at  night ;  but  night  came,  the  Christmas  passed  away, 
months  and  years  fled  away,  but  we  never  saw  the  little 
stumpy  man  again ! 

He  went  away  that  day  with  a  stranger  in  a  Avagon  from 
Peterborough,  and  never  afterwards  was  seen  in  that  part  of 
Canada.  We  afterwards  learned  that  he  v/ent  to  Texas,  and  it 
is  thought  that  he  was  killed  at  St.  Antonio ;  but  this  is  mer? 
oonjecture.     Whether  dead  or  living,  I  feel  convinced  that 


^  We  ne'er  shall  look  upon  his  lik^  agwji. 


n 


THE  FIHE, 


123 


irrA  the 
h  great 
and  ex- 
Acuities, 
^ht  of  a 

len    our 
•  to  give 
idding. 
■'  I  hope 
continue 

coming 
:d  away, 
the  little 

^on  from 
t  part  of 
IS,  and  it 
3  is  mer?. 
Ithat 


ViiAi'Tlfll*    VliS. 


THE    FIRE. 


rpHE  early  part  of  the  winter  of  1837,  a  year  never  to  be 
-L  forgotten  in  the  annals  of  Canadian  history,  was  very  se- 
vere. During  the  month  of  February,  the  thermometer  often 
ranged  from  eighteen  to  twenty-seven  degrees  below  zero. 
Speaking  of  the  coldness  of  one  particular  day,  a  genuine  Bro- 
ther Jonathan  remarked,  with  charming  simplicity,  that  it  was 
thirty  degrees  below  zero  that  morning,  and  it  would  have 
been  much  colder  if  the  thermometer  had  been  longer. 

The  morning  of  the  seventh  was  so  intensely  cold  that 
every  thing  liquid  froze  in  the  house.  The  wood  that  had 
been  drawn  for  the  fire  was  green,  and  it  ignited  too  slowly  to 
satisfy  the  shivering  impatience  of  women  and  children;  I 
vented  mine  in  audibly  grumbling  over  the  wretched  fire,  at 
which  I  in  vain  endeavoured  to  thaw  frozen  bread,  and  to  dress 
crying  children. 

It  so  happened  that  an  old  friend,  the  maiden  lady  before 
alluded  to,  had  been  staying  with  us  for  a  few  days.  She  had 
left  us  for  a  visit  to  my  sister,  and  as  some  relatives  of  hers 
were  about  to  return  to  Britain  by  the  way  of  New  York,  and 
had  offered  to  convey  letters  to  friends  at  home,  I  had  been 
busy  all  the  day  before  preparing  a  packet  for  England.  It 
was  my  intention  to  walk  to  my  sister's  with  this  packet,  di 
rectly  the  important  affair  of  breakfast  had  been  discussed  , 
but  the  extreme  cold  of  the  morning  had  occasioned  such 


\24 


HOUaUINQ  IT  IN  THE  hUSH 


■j^ 


delay  that  it  was  late  before  the  breakfast-things  were  cleared 
away. 

After  dressing,  I  found  the  air  so  keen  that  I  could  not 
venture  out  without  some  risk  to  my  nose,  and  my  husband 
kindly  volunteered  to  go  in  my  stead.  I  had  hired  a  young 
Irish  girl  the  day  before.  Her  friends  were  only  just  located 
in  our  vicinity,  and  she  had  never  seen  a  stove  until  she  came 
to  our  house.  After  Moodie  left,  I  suffered  the  fire  to  die 
away  in  the  Franklin  stove  in  the  parlour,  and  went  into  the 
kitchen  to  prepare  bread  for  the  oven. 

The  girl,  who  was  a  good-natured  creature,  had  heard  me 
complain  bitterly  of  the  cold,  and  the  impossibility  of  getting 
the  green  wood  to  burn,  and  she  thought  that  she  would  see 
if  she  could  not  make  a  good  fire  for  me  and  the  children, 
against  my  work  was  done.  Without  saying  one  word  about 
her  intention,  she  slipped  out  through  a  door  that  opened  from 
the  parlour  into  the  garden,  ran  round  to  the  wood-yard,  filled 
her  lap  with  cedar  chips,  and,  not  knowing  the  nature  of  the 
stove,  filled  it  entirely  with  the  light  wood. 

Before  I  had  the  least  idea  of  my  danger,  I  was  aroused 
from  the  completion  of  my  task  by  the  crackling  and  roaring 
of  11  large  fire,  and  a  suffocating  smell  of  burning  soot.  I 
looked  up  at  the  kitchen  cooking-stove.  All  was  right  there. 
I  knew  I  had  left  no  fire  in  the  parlour  stove ;  but  not  being 
able  to  account  for  the  smoke  and  smell  of  burning,  I  opened 
the  door,  and  to  my  dismay  found  the  stove  red  hot,  from  the 
front  plate  to  the  topmost  pipe  that  let  out  the  smoke  through 
the  roof. 

My  first  impulse  was  to  plunge  a  blanket,  snatched  from 
the  servant's  bed,  which  scood  in  the  kitchen,  into  coM  water. 
This  I  thrust  into  the  stove,  and  upon  it  I  threw  water,  until 
all  was  cool  below.  I  then  ran  up  to  the  loft,  and  by  exhaust, 
mg  all  the  water  in  the  house,  even  to  that  contained  in  the 


"    I 


11  j 


! 


THE  FIRE. 


125 


boileis  upon  the  fire,  contrived  to  cool  down  the  pipes  which 
passed  through  the  loft.  I  then  sent  the  girl  out  of  doors  to 
look  at  the  roof,  which,  as  a  very  deep  fall  of  snow  had  taken 
place  the  day  before,  I  hoped  would  he  completely  covered, 
and  safe  from  all  danger  of  fire. 

She  quickly  returned,  stamping  and  tearing  her  hair,  and 
making  a  variety  of  uncouth  outcries,  from  which  I  gathered 
that  the  roof  was  in  flames. 

This  was  terrible  news,  with  my  husband  absent,  no  man 
in  the  house,  and  a  mile  and  a  quarter  from  any  other  habita- 
tion.  i  ran  out  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  misfortune,  and 
found  a  large  fire  burning  in  the  roof  between  the  two  stone 
pipes.  The  heat  of  the  fires  had  melted  off  all  the  snow,  and 
a  spark  from  the  burning  pipe  had  already  ignited  the  shingles. 
A  ladder,  which  for  several  months  had  stood  against  the 
house,  had  been  moved  two  days  before  to  the  barn,  which 
was  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  near  the  road  ;  there  was  no  reach- 
ing the  fire  through  that  source.  I  got  out  the  dinlng-table, 
and  tried  to  throw  water  upon  the  roof  by  standing  on  a  chair 
placed  upon  it,  but  I  only  expended  the  little  water  that  re- 
mained  in  the  boiler,  without  reaching  the  fire.  The  girl  still 
continued  weeping  and  lamenting. 

"  You  must  go  for  help,"  I  said.  "  Run  as  fast  as  you  can 
to  my  sister's,  and  fetch  your  master." 

"  And  lave  you,  ma'arm,  and  the  childher  alone  wid  the 
burnin'  house  f 

"  Yes,  yes !     Don't  stay  one  moment." 

"  I  have  no  shoes,  ma'arm,  and  the  snow  is  so  deep." 

"  Put  on  your  master's  boots  ;  make  haste,  or  we  shall  be 
lost  before  help  comes." 

The  girl  put  on  the  boots  and  started,  shrieking  "  Fire  !" 
the  whole  way.  This  was  utterly  useless,  and  only  impeded 
her  progress  by  exhausting  hor  strength.     After  she  had  van* 


1' 


I 


I 


il 


fl     r 


126 


ROUOIIINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH, 


ished  from  the  head  of  the  clearing  into  the  wood,  and  I  was 
left  quite  alone,  with  the  house  burning  over  my  head,  I 
paused  one  moment  to  reflect  what  had  best  be  done. 

The  house  was  built  of  cedar  logs;  in  all  probability  if, 
would  be  consumed  before  any  help  could  arrive.  There 
was  a  brisk  breeze  blowing  up  from  the  frozen  lake,  and  the 
thermometer  stood  at  eighteen  degrees  below  zero.  We  were 
placed  between  the  two  extremes  of  heat  and  cold,  and  there 
was  as  much  danger  to  be  apprehended  from  the  one  as  the 
other.  In  the  bewilderment  of  the  moment,  the  direful  ex- 
tent of  the  calamity  never  struck  me :  we  wanted  but  this  to 
put  the  finishing  stroke  to  our  misfortunes,  to  be  thrown  naked, 
houseless,  and  penniless,  upon  the  world.  "  What  shall  I  save 
first  f  was  the  thought  just  then  uppermost  in  my  mind. 
Bedding  and  clothing  appeared  the  most  essentially  necessary, 
and  without  another  moment's  pause,  I  set  to  wcrk  with  a 
right  good  will  to  drag  all  that  I  could  from  my  burning 
home. 

While  little  Agnes,  Dunbar,  and  baby  Donald  filled  the 
air  with  their  cries,  Katie,  as  if  fully  conscious  of  the  impor- 
tance of  exertion,  assisted  me  in  carrying  out  sheet  3  and  blan- 
kets, and  dragging  trunks  and  boxes  some  way  up  the  hill,  to 
be  out  of  'he  way  of  the  burning  brands  when  the  roof  should 
fall  in. 

How  many  anxious  looks  I  gave  to  the  head  of  the  clearing 
as  the  fire  increased,  and  large  pieces  of  burning  pine  began 
to  fall  through  the  boarded  ceilmg,  about  the  lower  rooms 
where  we  were  at  work.  The  children  I  had  k*»pt  under  a 
large  dresser  in  the  kitchen,  but  it  now  appeared  absolutely 
necessary  to  remove  them  to  a  place  of  safety.  To  expose 
the  young,  tender  things  to  the  direful  cold  was  almost  as  bad 
as  leaving  them  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire.  At  last  I  h*f-  upon 
a  plan  to  keep  them  from  fi-erzing.     I  (Muptied  all  llie  clothes 


THE  FIRE. 


127 


out  of  tt  large,  deep  ehost  of  drawers,  and  dragged  the  einpf,_v 
drawers  up  the  hill ;  these  I  lined  with  blankets,  and  placed  a 
child  in  each  drawer,  covering  it  well  over  with  the  bedding 
giving  to  little  Agnes  ihe  charge  of  the  baby  to  hold  betwe«'n 
her  knees,  and  keep  well  covered  until  help  should  arrive. 
Ah,  how  long  it  seemed  wining  ! 

The  roof  was  now  burning  like  a  brush-heap,  and,  uncon- 
sciously, the  child  and  I  were  working  under  a  shelf,  upon 
which  were  deposited  several  pounds  of  gunpowder  which  had 
been  procured  for  blasting  a  w^ell,  as  all  our  water  had  to  be 
brought  up-hill  from  the  lake.  Tliis  gunpowder  was  in  a 
stone  jar,  secured  by  a  paper  stopper  ;  the  shelf  upon  which 
it  stood  was  on  fire,  but  it  was  utterly  forgotten  by  me  at  the 
time ;  and  even  afterwards,  when  my  husband  was  working 
on  the  burning  loft  over  it. 

I  found  that  I  should  not  be  able  to  take  many  more  trips 
for  goods.  As  I  passed  out  of  the  parlour  for  the  last  time, 
Katie  looked  up  at  her  father's  flute,  which  was  suspended 
upon  two  brackets,  and  said, 

"  Oh,  dear  mamma  !  do  save  papa's  flute  ;  he  will  be  st» 
sorry  to  lose  it." 

God  bless  the  dear  child  for  the  thought !  the  flute  was 
saved  ;  and,  as  I  succeeded  in  dragging  out  a  heavy  chest  of 
clothes,  and  looked  up  once  more  despairingly  to  the  road,  I 
saw  a  man  running  at  full  speed.  It  was  my  husband.  Help 
was  at  hand,  and  my  heart  uttered  a  deep  thanksgiving  aw 
another  and  another  figure  came  upon  the  scene. 

I  had  not  felt  the  intense  cold,  although  without  cap,  or 
bonnet,  or  shawl ;  with  my  hands  bai-e  and  exposed  to  the 
Wtter,  biting  air.  The  intense  excitement,  the  anxiety  to  fuive 
■11  I  could,  had  so  totally  diverted  my  thoughts  from  myself, 
that  I  had  felt  nothing  of  the  danger  to  which  I  had  been 
exposed;  but  now  tbai    help  was  near,  my  knees  trembled 


.u 


128 


ROUOmNG  IT  IN  THE  BUSH 


under  me,  I  fult  giddy  and  faint,  and  dark  shadows  sccmod 
dancing  before  my  eyes. 

The  moment  my  hus})and  and  brother-in-luw  entered  thfc 
house,  the  latter  exclaimed, 

"  Aloodie,  the  house  is  gone  ;  save  what  you  can  of  y©ur 
winter  stf)rcs  and  furniture." 

M(K)dic  thought  differently.  Prompt  and  energetic  in  dan- 
ger, and  possessing  admirable  ence  of  mind  and  coolness 
when  others  yield  to  agitation  and  despair,  he  sprang  upon 
the  burning  loft  and  called  for  water.     Alas,  there  was  none ! 

"  Snow,  snow  ;  hand  mc  up  pailfuls  of  snow  !" 

Oh !  it  was  bitter  work  filling  those  pails  with  frozen  snow  ; 
but  Mr.  T and  I  worked  at  it  as  fast  as  we  were  able. 

The  violence  of  the  fire  was  greatly  checked  by  covering 
the  boards  of  the  loft  with  this  snow.     More  help  had  now 

arrived.     Young  B and  S had  brought  the  ladder 

doNV^n  with  them  from  the  barn,  and  were  already  cutting 
away  the  burning  roof,  and  flinging  the  flaming  brands  into 
the  deep  snow. 

"  Mrs.  Moodie,  have  you  any  pickled  meat  ?" 

"  We  have  just  killed  one  of  our  cows,  and  salted  it  for 
winter  stores." 

"  Well,  then,  fling  the  beef  into  the  snow,  and  let  us  have 
the  brine." 

This  was  an  admirable  plan.  Wherever  the  brine  wetted 
the  shingles,  the  fire  turned  from  it,  and  concentrated  into  one 
spot. 

But  I  had  not  time  to  watch  the  brave  workers  on  the 
roof.  I  was  fast  yielding  to  the  effects  of  over-excitement 
and  fatigue,  when  my  brother's  team  dashed  down  the  clear- 

ing,  bringing  my  excellent  old  friend,  Miss  B ,  and  the 

servant-girl. 

My  brother  sprang  out,  carried  me  back  into  the  house. 


TUK  FIHE. 


120 


and  wrapped  me  up  in  one  of  the  lurgo  blanket!-,  seultercd 
about.  In  a  few  luinutos  I  was  seated  with  the  dear  children 
in  the  sleigh,  and  on  tlie  way  to  a  i)lacc  of  warir.tli  and  safety. 
Katie  alone  sulVered  from  the  intense  cold.  The  dear  little 
creuturo's  feet  were  severely  frozen,  but  were  fortunati'ly  re- 
stored by  lier  uncle  discovering  the  fact  before  she  ajipruuchcd 
th  fire,  and  rubbing  them  well  with  snow.  \\\  the  mean 
while,  the  friends  we  had  left  so  actively  employed  at  the 
house  succeeded  in  getting  th(;  fire  under  before  it  had  de- 
stroyed the  walls.  The  only  accident  that  occurred  was  to  a 
poor  dog,  that  Moodie  had  called  Snarleyowc.  He  was  struck 
by  a  burning  brand  thrown  from  the  house,  and  crept  under 
the  barn  and  died. 

Beyond  the  damage  done  to  the  building,  the  lo?-;  ^f  oiir 
potatoes  and  two  sacks  of  flour,  we  had  escaped  in  a  manner 
almost  miraculous.  This  fact  shows  how  much  can  be  done 
by  persons  working  in  union,  without  bustle  and  confusion,  o** 
running  in  Ccach  other's  way.  Here  were  six  men,  who,  with- 
out  the  aid  of  water,  succeeded  in  saving  a  building,  which, 
at  first  sight,  almost  all  of  them  had  deemed  past  hope,  hi 
after  years,  when  entirely  burnt  out  in  a  disastrous  fire  that 
consumed  almost  all  we  were  worth  in  the  world,  some  f<)ur 
hundred  persons  were  present,  with  a  fire-engine  to  second 
their  endeavours,  yet  all  was  lost.  Every  person  seemed  in 
the  way ;  and  though  the  fire  was  discovered  immediately 
after  it  took  place,  nothing  was  done  beyond  saving  some  of  * 
the  fiirniture. 

Our  party  was  too  large  to  be  billetted  upon  one  family. 

Mrs.  T took  compassion  upon  Moodie,  myself,  and  the 

babv,  while  their  uncle  received  the  three  children  to  his  hos- 
pitable  home. 

It  was  some  weeks  before  Moodie  succeeded  in  repairing 
the  roof,  the  intense  cold  preventing  any  one  from  working  in 

VOL.  TI,  6* 


130 


ROUGHING  IT  LV  THE  BUISH. 


sucli  ail  exposed  situation.  The  news  of  ou,  fire  trayelled  fai 
and  wide.  I  was  reported  to  have  done  prodigies,  and  to  have 
saved  the  greater  part  of  our  household  goods  before  help  ar- 
rived. Reduced  to  plain  prose,  these  prodigies  shrink  into  the 
simple,  and  by  no  means  marvellous  fact,  that  during  the  ex- 
citement  I  dragged  out  chests  which,  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, I  could  not  have  moved  ;  and  that  I  was  unconscious 
both  of  the  cold  and  the  danger  to  which  I  was  exposed  while 
working  under  a  burning  roof,  which,  had  it  fallen,  would  have 
buried  both  the  children  and  myself  under  its  ruins.  These 
circumstances  appeared  far  more  alarming,  as  all  real  danger 
does,  after  they  were  past.  The  fright  and  over  exertion  gave 
I  my  health  a  shock  from  m  hieh  I  did  not  recover  for  several 
I  months,  and  made  pie  so  fearful  of  fire,  that  from  that  hour  it 
I  haunts  me  like  a  nightmare.  Let  the  night  be  ever  so  serene, 
all  stoves  must  be  shut  up,  and  the  hot  embers  covered  with 
ashes,  before  I  dare  retire  to  rest ;  and  the  sight  of  a  burning 
edifice,  so  common  a  spectacle  in  large  towns  in  this  country, 
makes  me  really  ill.  This  feeling  was  greatly  increased  after 
a  second  fire,  when,  for  some  torturing  minutes,  a  lovely  boy, 
since  drowned,  was  supposed  to  have  perished  in  the  burning 
house. 

Our  present  fire  led  to  a  new  train  of  circumstances,  for  it 
was  the  means  of  introducing  to  Moodie  a  young  Irish  gentle- 
man, who  was  staying  at  my  brother's  house.     John  E 

was  one  of  the  best  and  gentlest  of  human  beings.  His  fiifcher, 
a  captain  in  the  army,  had  died  while  his  family  were  quite 
young,  and  had  left  his  widow  with  scarcely  any  means  be- 
yond the  pension  she  received  a*^  her  husband's  death,  to  bring 
up  and  educate  a  family  of  five  children.  A  handsome,  showy 

woman,  Mrs.  E soon  married  again ;  and  the  poor  lads 

were  thrown  upon  th 3  world.  The  eldest,  who  had  been  edu- 
cated for  the  Church  first  came  to  Canada  in  the  hope  of  g«» 


THE  FIRE. 


131 


for  it 
gentle- 

E 

flither, 
s  quite 
ns  be- 

bring 
showy 
lads 
;n  ecl;i- 


ting  some  professorship  in  the  college,  or  of  opening  a  classi- 
cal school.  He  was  a  handsome,  gentlemanly,  well-educated 
young  man,  but  constitutionally  indolent— a  natural  defect 
.  which  seemed  common  to  all  the  males  of  the  family,  and 
which  was  sufficiently  indicated  by  their  soft,  silky,  fair  hair 
and  milky  complexion.  R had  the  good  sense  to  per- 
ceive that  Canada  was  not  the  country  for  him.  He  spent  a 
week  under  our  roof,  and  we  v/ere  much  pleased  with  his  ele- 
gant tastes  and  pursuits ;  but  my  husband  stro/igly  advised 
him  to  try  and  get  a  situation  as  a  tutor  in  some  family  at 
home.     This  he  afterwards  obtained.     He  became  tutor  and 

travelling  companion  to  the  young  Lord  M ;  and  has 

since  got  an  excellent  living. 

John,  who  had  followed  his  brother  to  Canada  without  the 
meai.s  of  transporting  himself  back  again,  was  forced  to  re- 
main, and  was  working  with  Mr.  S~ —  for  his  board.  He 
proposed  to  Moodie  working  his  farm  upon  shares ;  and  as  we 
were  unable  to  hire  a  man,  Moodie  gladly  closed  with  his 
offer ;  and,  during  the  time  he  remained  with  us,  we  had  every 
reason  to  be  pleased  with  the  arrangement.  It  was  always  a 
humiliating  feeling  to  our  proud  minds,  that  hirelings  should 
witness  our  dreadful  struggles  with  poverty,  and  the  strange 
shifts  we  were  forced  to  make  in  order  to  obtain  even  food. 

But  John  E had  known  and  experienced  all  that  we  had 

suffered,  in  his  own  person,  and  was  willing  to  share  our  home 
with  all  its  privations.  Warm-hearted,  sincere,  and  truly 
affectionate- -a  gentleman  in  word,  thought,  and  deed — we 
found  his  society  and  cheerful  help  a  great  comfort.  Our  odd 
meals  became  a  subject  of  merriment,  and  the  peppermint  and 
sage  tea  drank  with  a  better  flavour  when  we  had  one  who 
sympathized  in  all  our  trials,  and  shared  all  our  toils,  to  par- 
take of  it  with  us. 

The  whole  family  soon  became  attached   to  our  young 


# 


m 


fe 


1 1 


f  i' 


r'! 


miiiy 


182 


KOUQUINO   IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


\ 


friend ;  and  after  the  work  of  the  day  was  ovei,  greatly  we 

enjoyed  an  hour's  fishing  on  the  lake.     John  E said  that 

we  had  no  right  to  murmur,  as  long  as  we  had  health,  a  happy 
home,  and  plenty  of  fresh  fish,  milk,  and  potatoes.  Early  in 
May,  we  received  an  old  Irishwoman  into  our  service,  who 
for  four  years  proved  a  most  faithful  and  industrious  creature. 

And  what  with  John  E to  assist  my  husband  on  the  farm, 

and  old  Jenny  to  help  me  to  nurse  the  children,  and  manage 
the  house,  our  affairs,  if  they  were  no  better  in  a  pecuniary 
point  of  view,  at  least  presented  a  more  pleasing  aspect  at 
home.  We  were  always  cheerful,  and  sometimes  contented 
and  even  happy. 

Plow  great  was  the  contrast  between  the  character  of  our 
new  inmate  and  that  of  Mr.  Malcolm  !  The  sufferings  of  the 
past  year  had  been  greatly  increased  by  the  intolerable  nui- 
sance of  his  company,  while  many  additional  debts  had  been 
contracted  in  order  to  obtain  luxuries  for  him  which  we  never 
dreamed  of  purchasing  for  ourselves.  Instead  of  increasing 
my  domestic  toils,  John  did  all  in  his  power  to  lessen  them  ; 
and  it  always  grieved  him  to  see  me  iron  a  shirt,  or  wash  the 
least  article  of  clothing  for  him.  "  You  have  too  much  to  do 
already ;  I  cannot  bear  to  give  you  the  least  additional  work," 
he  would  say.  And  he  generally  expressed  the  greatest  satis- 
faction at  my  method  of  managing  the  house,  and  preparing 
our  simple  fare.  The  little  ones  he  treated  with  the  most 
affectionate  kindness,  and  gathered  the  whole  flock  about  his 
knees  the  jrioment  he  came  in  to  his  meals. 

On  a  wet  day,  when  no  work  could  be  done  abroad, 
Moodie  took  up  his  flute,  or  read  aloud  to  us,  while  John  and 
I  sat  down  to  work.  The  young  emigrant,  early  cast  upon 
the  world  and  his  own  resources,  was  an  excellent  hand  at  the 
needle.  He  would  make  or  mend  a  shirt  with  the  greatest 
precisioir  and  neatness,  ard  cut  out  and  manufacture  his  canvas 


THE  FIRE. 


133 


trowsers  and  loose  summer-coats  with  as  much  adroitness  as 
the  most  experienced  tailor ;  dam  his  socks,  and  mend  his 
boots  and  shoes,  and  often  volunteered  to  assist  me  in  knitting 
the  coarse  yarn  of  the  country  into  socks  for  the  children, 
while  he  made  them  moccasins  from  the  dressed  deer-skins 
that  we  obtained  from  the  Indians.  Scrupulously  neat  and 
clean  in  his  person,  the  only  thing  which  seemed  to  vn^^a  his 
calm  temper  was  the  dirty  work  of  logging;  he  hated  to  come 
in  from  the  field  with  his  person  and  clothes  begrimed  with 
charcoal  and  smoke.  Old  Jenny  used  to  laugh  at  him  for 
not  being  able  to  eat  his  meals  w'ithout  first  washing  his  hands 
and  face. 

"  Och  !  my  dear  heart,  yer  too  particular  intirely  ;  we've 
no  time  in  the  woods  to  be  clane."  She  would  say  to  him,  \ 
in  answer  to  his  request  for  soap  and  a  towel,  "  An'  is  it  soap 
yer  a  wantin'  ?  I  tell  yer  that  that  same  is  not  to  the  fore ; 
bating  the  throuble  of  making,  it's  little  soap  that  the  mis- 
thress  can  get  to  wash  the  clothes  for  us  and  the  cbUdher, 
widout  yer  wastin'  it  in  makin'  yer  purty  skin  as  white  as  a 
leddy's.  Do,  darlint,  go  down  to  the  lake  and  wash  there  ; 
that  basin  is  big  enough,  any  how."  And  John  would 
laugh,  and  go  down  to  the  lake  to  wash,  in  order  to  appease 
the  vrath  of  the  old  woman.  John  had  a  great  dislike  to 
oats,  and  even  regarded  with  an  evil  eye  our  old  pet  cat. 
Peppermint,  who  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  shar^  his  bed 
and  board. 

"  If  I  tolerate  our  rwn  cat,"  he  would  say,  "  I  will  not  put 
up  with  such  a  nuisance  as  your  friend  Emilia  sends  us  in  the 
shape  of  hex  ugly  Tom.  Why,  where  in  the  world  do  you 
think  I  found  that  beast  sleeping  las';  night  1" 

I  expressed  my  ignorance. 

*'  In  our  potato-pot.  Now,  you  will  agree  with  me  that 
potatoes  dressed  with  cat's  hair  is  not  a  very  nice  dish.     The 


^urnKwammaKsm 


' 


134 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  TEE  BUSH. 


%i  ^ 


I 


■A 


!  i 


next  time  I  catch  Master  Tom  in  the  potato-pot,  1  will  kill 
him." 

"  John,  you  are  not  in  earnest.     Mrs. would  nevei 

forgive  any  injury  done  to  Tom,  who  is  a  great  favourite." 

"  Let  her  keep  him  at  home,  then.  Think  of  the  brute  com* 
ing  a  mile  through  the  woods  to  steal  from  us  all  he  can  find, 
and  then  sleeping  off  the  effects  of  his  depredations  in  the 
potato-pot." 

I  could  not  help  laughing,  but  I  begged  John  by  no  means 
to  annoy  Emilia  by  hurting  her  cat. 

The  next  day,  while  sitting  in  the  parlour  at  work,  I  heard 
a  dreadful  squall,  and  rushed  to  the  rescue.  John  was  stand- 
ing, with  a  flushed  cheek,  grasping  a  large  stick  m  his  hand, 
and  Tom  was  lying  dead  at  his  feet. 

"  Oh.  the  poor  cat !" 

"  Yes,  I  have  killed  him ;  but  I  am  sorry  for  it  now.  What 
will  Mrs. say  f 

"  She  must  not  know  it.  I  have  told  you  the  story  of  the 
pig  that  Jacob  killed.     You  had  better  bury  it  with  the  pig." 

John  was  really  sorry  for  having  yielded,  in  a  fit  of  pas- 
sion, to  do  so  cruel  a  thing  ;  yet  a  few  days  after  he  got  into 
a  fresh  scrape  with  Mrs. 's  animals. 

The  hens  were  laying,  up  at  the  barn.  John  was  very 
fond  of  fresh  eggs,  but  some  strange  dog  came  daily  and 
sucked  the  eggs.     John  had  vowed  to  kill  the  first  dog  he 

found  in  the  act.     Mr. had  a  very  fine  bull-dog,  which 

he  valued  very  highly ;  but  with  Emilia,  Chowder  was  an 
especial  favourite.  Bitterly  had  she  bemoaned  the  fate  of 
Tom,  and  many  were  the  inquiries  she  made  of  us  as  to  his 
sudden  disappearance. 

One  afternoon  John  ran  into  the  room.  "  My  dear  Mrs. 
Moodie,  what  is  Mrs. 's  dog  like  1" 

"  A  large  bulldog,  brindled  black  and  white." 


■ 


THE  FIRE. 


135 


^ei 


"Thei.,  by  Jove,  I've  shot  him!" 

"John,  John!  you  mean  me  to  quarrel  m  eaniest  with 
my  friend.     How  could  you  do  if?" 

"  "Why,  how  the  deuce  should  I  know  her  dog  from  an- 
other? I  caught  the  big  thief  in  the  very  act  of  devouring 
the  eggs  from  under  your  sitting  hen,  and  I  shot  him  dead 
without  another  thought.  But  I  will  bury  him,  and  she  will 
never  find  it  out  a  bit  more  than  she  did  who  killed  the  cat." 

Some  time  after  this,  Emilia  returned  from  a  visit  at 

P .     The  first  thing  she  told  me  was  the  loss  of  the  dog. 

She  was  so  vexed  at  it,  she  had  had  him  advertised,  offering  a 
reward  for  his  recovery.  I,  of  course,  was  called  upon  to 
sympathize  with  her,  which  I  did  with  a  very  bad  grace.  "  I 
did  not  like  the  beas""  I  said;  "he  was  cross  and  fierce,  and 
I  was  afraid  to  go  up  to  her  house  v/hile  he  was  the^e." 

"  Yes ;  but  to  lose  him  so.  It  is  so  provoking ;  and  him 
such  a  valuable  animal.  I  could  not  tell  how  deeply  she  felt 
the  loss.  She  would  give  four  dollars  to  find  out  who  had 
stolen  him." 

How  near  she  came  to  making  the  grand  discovery  the 
sequel  will  show. 

Instead  of  burying  him  with  the  murdered  pig  and  cat, 
Jolm  had  scratched  a  shallow  grave  in  the  garden,  and  con- 
cealed the  dead  brute. 

After  tea,  Emilia  requested  to  look  at  the  garden ;  and  I, 
perfectly  unconscious  that  it  contained  the  remains  of  the 

murdered  Chowder,  led  the  way.    Mrs. ,  whilst  gathering 

a  handful  of  fine  green  peas,  suddenly  stooped,  and  looking 
earnestly  at  the  ground,  called  to  me. 

"  Come  here,  Susanna,  and  tell  me  what  has  been  buried 
here.     It  looks  like  the  tail  of  a  dog." 

She  might  have  added,  "  of  my  dog."  Murder,  it  seems, 
will  out.     By  some  strange  chance,  the^  ^r.ive  that  covered 


rm 


I 


-1 


11 
Ik 


ii 


I 

I  i 


'■ 
1 


136 


ROUQHINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


the  mortal  remains  of  Chowder  had  been  disturbed,  and  the 
black  tail  of  the  dog  was  sticking  out. 

"  What  can  it  be  V  said  I,  with  an  air  of  perfect  innocence. 
*'  Shall  I  call  Jenny,  and  dig  it  up  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  my  dear ;  it  has  a  shocking  smell,  but  it  does  look 
very  much  like  Chowder's  tail." 

"  Impossible !     How  could  it  come  among  my  peas  ?" 

"True.  Besides,  I  saw  Chowder,  with  my  own  eyes 
yesterday,  following  a  team ;  and  George  C hopes  to  re- 
cover him  for  me." 

"  Indeed !  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  How  these  mosquitoes 
sting.     Shall  we  go  back  to  the  house  ?" 

While  we  returned  to  the  house,  John,  who  had  overheard 
the  whole  conversation,  hastily  disinterred  the  body  of  Chow- 
der, and  placed  him  in  the  same  mysterious  grave  with  Tom 
and  the  pig.  Moodie  and  his  friend  finished  logging-up  the 
eight  acres  which  the  former  had  cleared  the  previous  w  inter ; 
besides  putting  in  a  crop  of  peas  and  potatoes,  and  an  acre  of 
Indian  corn,  reserving  the  fallow  for  fall  wheat ;  while  we  had 
the  promise  of  a  splendid  crop  of  hay  off  the  sixteen  acres 
that  had  been  cleared  in  1834.  We  were  all  in  high  spirits, 
and  every  thing  promised  fair,  until  a  very  trifling  circum- 
stance again  occasioned  us  much  anxiety  and  trouble,  and  was 
the  cause  of  our  losing  most  of  our  crop. 

Moodie  was  asked  to  attend  a  bee,  which  w^as  called  to 
construct  a  corduroy  bridge  over  a  very  bad  piece  of  road. 

He  and  J.  E were  obliged  to  go  that  morning  with 

wheat  to  the  mill,  but  Moodie  lent  his  yoke  of  oxen  for  the 
work. 

The  driver  selected  for  them  at  the  bee  was  the  brutal 

M y,  a  savage  Irishman,  noted  for  his  ill-treatment  of 

cattle,  especially  if  the  animals  did  not  belong  to  him.  He 
gave  one  of  the  oxen  such  a  severe  blow  over  the  loins  with 


J  i 
'i  H  i. 


**► 


TUE  FIIiF. 


la? 


a  handspike  that  the  creature  came  home  perfectly  disiibled, 
just  as  we  wanted  his  services  in  the  hay -field  and  hai> 
vest. 

Moodie  had  no  money  to  purchase,  or  even  to  hire,  a  mate 
for  the  other  ox ;  but  he  and  John  hoped  tha<:  by  careful  at- 
tendance upon  the  injured  animal  he  ir\,iit  be  restored  to 
health  in  a  few  days.  They  convey  a  him  to  a  deserted 
clearing,  a  short  distance  from  the  ■  rm,  where  he  would  be 
safe  from  injury  from  the  res  of  the  cattle ;  and  early  every 
morning  we  went  in  the  canoe  to  carry  poor  Duke  a  warm 
mash,  and  to  watch  the  progress  of  his  recovery. 

Ah,  ye  who  revel  in  this  world's  wealtii,  how  little  can  you 
realize  the  importance  which  we,  in  our  poverty,  attached  to 
the  life  of  this  valuable  animal !  Yes,  it  even  became  the 
subject  of  prayer,  for  the  bread  for  ourselves  and  our  little 
ones  depended  greatly  upon  his  recovery.  We  were  doomed 
to  disappointment.  After  nursing  him  with  the  greatest  at- 
tention and  care  for  some  weeks,  the  animal  grew  daily  worse, 
and  suffered  such  intense  agony,  as  he  lay  groaning  upon  the 
ground,  unable  to  rise,  that  John  shot  him  to  put  him  out  of 
pain. 

Here,  then,  were  we  left  without  oxen  to  draw  in  our  hay, 
or  secure  our  other  crops.  A  neighbour,  who  had  an  odd  ox, 
kindly  lent  us  the  use  of  him,  when  he  was  not  employed  on 
his  own  farm ;  and  John  and  Moodie  gave  their  own  work  for 
the  occasional  loan  of  a  yoke  of  oxen  for  a  day.  But  with  all 
these  drawbacks,  ana  in  spite  of  the  assistance  of  old  Jenny 
and  myself  in  the  field,  a  great  deal  of  the  produce  was 
damaged  before  it  could  be  secured.  The  whole  summer  we 
had  to  labour  under  this  disadvantage.  Our  neighbours  were 
all  too  busy  to  give  us  any  help,  and  their  own  teams  were 
employed  in  saving  their  crops.  Fortunately,  the  few  acres 
of  wheat  we  had  to  reap  were  close  to  the  barn,  and  we  car. 


i     m. 


I 


188 


HOUGHINQ  IT  IN  THE  BUSU. 


ried  the  sheaves  thither  by  hand;  old  Jenny  provhig  an 
invaluable  help,  both  in  the  harvest  and    ay  field. 

Still,  with  all  these  misfortunes,  Providence  watched  over 
us  in  a  signal  manner.  We  were  never  left  entirely  without 
food.  Like  the  widow's  cruise  of  oil,  our  means,  though 
small,  were  never  suffered  to  cease  entirely.  We  had  been 
for  some  days  without  meat,  when  Moodie  came  running  in 
for  his  gun.  A  great  she-bear  was  in  the  wheat-field  at  the 
edge  of  the  wood,  very  busily  employed  in  helping  to  harvest 
the  crop.  There  was  but  one  bullet,  and  a  charge  or  two  of 
buck-shot,  in  the  house;  but  Moodie  started  to  the  wood  with 
the  single  bullet  in  his  gun,  followed  by  a  little  terrier  dog 

that  belonged  to  John  E .     Old  Jenny  was  busy  at  tho 

wash-tub,  but  the  moment  she  saw  her  master  running  up  the 
clearing,  and  knew  the  cause,  she  left  her  work,  and  snatching 
up  the  carving-knife,  ran  after  him,  that  in  case  the  bear 
should  have  the  best  of  the  fight,  she  would  be  there  to  help 
"  the  masther."  Fmding  her  shoes  incommode  her,  she  flung 
them  off,  in  order  to  run  faster.     A  few  minutes  after,  came 

the  report  of  the  gun,  and  I  heard  Moodie  halloo  to  E , 

who  was  cutting  stakes  for  a  fence  in  the  wood.  I  hardly 
thought  it  possible  that  he  could  have  killed  the  bear,  but  I 
ran  to  the  door  to  listen.  The  children  were  all  excitement, 
which  the  sight  of  the  black  monster,  borne  down  the  clearing 
upon  two  poles,  increased  to  the  wildest  demonstrations  of 
joy.  Moodie  and  John  were  carrying  the  prize,  and  old 
Jenny,  brandishing  her  carving-knife,  followed  in  the  rear. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  was  spent  in  skinning  and  cutting 
up  and  salting  the  ugly  creature,  whose  flesh  filled  a  barrel 
with  excellent  meat,  in  flavour  resembling  beef,  while  the 
short  grain  and  j  iicy  nature  of  the  flesh  gave  to  it  the  tender- 
ness of  mutton.  This  was  quite  a  Godsend,  and  lasted  ms 
until  we  were  able  to  kill  two  large,  fat  hogs,  in  the  fall. 


THE  FIRE. 


139 


A  few  nights  after,  Moodie  and  I  encountered  the  mate  of 
Mrs.  Bruin,  while  returning  from  a  visit  to  Emilia,  in  the  very 
depth  of  the  wood. 

We  had  been  invited  to  meet  our  friend's  father  and 
mother,  who  had  come  up  on  a  short  visit  to  the  woods ;  and 
the  evening  passed  away  so  pleasantly  that  it  was  near  mid- 
night before  the  little  party  of  friends  separated.  The  moon 
was  down.  The  wood,  through  which  we  had  to  return,  was 
very  dark ;  the  ground  being  low  and  swampy,  and  the  trees 
thick  and  tall.  There  was,  in  particular,  one  very  ugly  spot, 
where  a  small  creek  crossed  the  road.  This  creek  could  only 
be  passed  by  foot-passengers  scrambling  over  a  fallen  tree, 
A^hich,  in  a  dark  night,  was  not  very  easy  to  find.     1  beggod 

a  torch  of  Mr.  M ;  but  no  torch  could  be  found.     Emilia 

laughed  at  my  fears ;  still,  knowing  what  a  coward  I  was  in 
the  bush  of  a  night,  she  found  up  about  an  inch  of  candle, 
which  was  all  that  remained  from  the  evening's  entertainment. 
This  she  put  into  an  old  lantern. 

"  It  will  not  last  you  long ;  but  it  will  carry  you  over  the 
creek." 

This  was  something  gained,  and  off  we  set.  It  was  so  dark 
in  the  bush,  that  our  dim  candle  looked  like  a  solitary  red 
spark  in  the  intense  surrounding  darkness,  and  scarcely  served 
to  show  us  the  path.  We  went  chattuig  along,  talking  over 
the  news  of  the  evening,  Hector  running  on  before  us.  when 
I  saw  a  parr  of  eyes  glare  upon  us  from  the  edge  of  the 
swamp,  with  the  green,  bright  light  emitt(>il  by  the  eyes  of 
a  cat. 

"  Did  you  see  those  terrible  eyes,  Moodie  ?"  and  I  clung, 
trembling,  to  his  arm. 

"What  eyes'?"  said  he,  feigning  ignorance.  "It's  too 
dark  to  see  any  thing.  The  light  is  nearly  gone,  and,  if  you 
don't  quicken  your  pare,  and  cross  the  trco  before  it  goes 


f 


1 


*■ 
J 


^:iM 


140 


ROUOniNO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


out,  you  will,  perhaps,  get  your  feet  wet  by  falling  into  the 
creek." 

"  Good  heavens  !  I  saw  them  again  ;  and  do  just  look  at 
the  dog." 

Hector  stopped  suddenly,  and,  stretching  himself  along  the 
groiind,  his  nose  resting  between  his  fore-paws,  began  to  whine 
and  tremble.  Presently  he  ran  back  to  us,  and  crept  under 
our  feet,  llie  cracking  of  branches,  and  the  heavy  tread  of 
some  large  a.-imal,  sounded  close  beside  us. 

Moodie  turned  the  open  lantern  in  the  direction  from 
whence  the  sounds  camo,  and  shouted  as  loud  as  he  could,  at 
the  same  time  endeavouring  to  urge  forward  the  fear-stricken 
dog,  whose  cowardice  was  only  equalled  by  my  own. 

Just  at  that  critical  moment  the  wick  of  the  candle  flick- 
ered a  moment  in  the  socket,  and  expired.  We  were  left,  in 
perfect  darkness,  alone  with  the  bear — for  such  we  supposed 
the  animal  to  be. 

My  heart  beat  audibly ;  a  cold  perspiration  was  streaming 
down  my  face,  but  I  neither  shrieked  nor  attempted  to  run. 
I  don't  know  how  Moodie  got  me  over  the  creek.  One  of 
my  feet  slipped  into  the  water,  but,  expecting,  as  I  did  every 
moment,  to  be  devoured  by  master  Bruin,  that  was  a  thing 
of  no  consequence.  My  husband  was  laughing  at  my  fears, 
and  every  now  and  then  he  turned  towards  our  companion, 
who  continued  following  us  at  no  great  distance,  and  gave  him 
an  encouraging  shout.  Glad  enough  was  I  when  I  saw  the 
gleam  of  the  light  from  our  little  cabin  window  shine  out 
among  the  trees  ;  and,  the  moment  I  got  within  the  clearing, 
I  ran,  without  stopping  until  I  was  safely  within  the  house. 
John  was  sitting  up  for  us,  nursing  Donald.  He  listened 
with  great  interest  to  our  adventure  with  the  bear,  and 
thought  that  Bruin  was  very  good  to  let  us  escape  without 
one  afreetionate  hug. 


'^sA, 


THE  FIRK. 


141 


at 


"  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  otherwise  had  he  known, 
Moodie,  that  you  had  not  only  killed  his  good  lad),  but  were 
dining  sumptuously  off  her  carcass  every  day." 

The  bear  was  determined  to  have  sonuithlng  in  return  for 
the  loss  of  his  wife.  Several  nights  after  this,  our  slumbers 
were  disturbed,  about  midnight,  by  an  awful  yell,  and  old 
Jenny  shook  violently  at  our  chamber  door. 

"  Masther,  masther,  dear  ! — Get  up  wid  you  this  moment, 
or  the  bear  will  desthroy  the  cattle  intirely." 

Half  asleep,  Moodie  sprang  from  his  bed,  seized  his  gun, 
and  ran  out.  I  threw  my  largo  cloak  round  me,  struck  a 
light,  and  followed  him  to  the  door.  The  moment  the  latter 
was  unclosed,  some  calves  that  we  were  rearing  rushod  into 
the  kitchen,  closely  followed  by  the  larger  beasts,  who  came 
bellowing  headlong  down  the  hill,  pursued  by  the  bear 

It  was  a  laughable  scene,  as  shown  by  that  paltry  tallow- 
candle.  Moodie,  in  his  night-shirt,  taking  aim  at  something 
in  the  darkness,  surrounded  by  the  terrified  animals ;  old 
Jenny,  with  a  large  knife  in  her  hand,  holding  on  to  the  white 
skirts  of  her  masti-r's  garment,  making  outcry  loud  enough  to 
frighten  away  all  the  wild  boasts  in  the  bush — herself  almost 
in  a  state  of  nudity. 

"  Och,  maisther,  dear !  don't  timpt  the  ill-conditioned  cra- 
thur  wid  charging  too  near;  think  of  the  wife  and  the  childher. 
Let  me  come  at  the  rampaging  baste,  an'  I'll  stick  the  knife 
into  the  heart  of  him." 

Moodie  fired.  The  bear  retreated  up  the  clearing,  with  a 
low  growl.  Moodie  and  Jenny  pursued  him  some  way,  but 
it  was  too  dark  to  discern  any  object  at  a  distance.  I,  for  my 
part,  stood  at  the  open  door,  laughing  until  the  tears  ran  down 
my  cheeks,  at  the  glaring  eyes  of  the  oxen,  their  ears  erect, 
and  their  tails  carried  gracefully  on  a  level  with  their  backs, 
fts  they  stared  at  me  and  the  light,  in  blank  astonishment. 


t  -.  '• 


142 


jiouanjxa  it  in  tiiI':  mrsii. 


Tho  noise  of  the  gun  hud  just  roused  Jolin  £ from  hisi 

slumbers.  He  was  no  less  amused  than  myself,  until  he  saw 
that  a  fine  yearling  heifer  was  bleeding,  and  found,  upon  ex. 
amination,  that  the  poor  animal,  having  been  in  the  claws  of 
thi  bear,  was  dangerously,  if  not  mortally  hurt. 

"  I  hope,"  he  cried,  "  that  the  brute  has  not  touched  my 
foal !"  I  pointed  to  tho  blacic  face  of  the  filly  peeping  over 
the  back  of  an  elderly  cow. 

"You  see,  Jolva,  that  Bruin  preferred  veal ;  there's  your 
*  horsey,'  as  Dunbar  calls  her,  ^.afe,  and  laughing  at  you." 

Moodie  nnd  Jenpy  now  retmnt^d  from  the  pursuit  of  the 

bear.     L fastened  all  the  cattle  into  the  bach  yard,  close 

to  the  h'Mse.  Cv  daylight  he  and  Moodio  had  started  in 
chase  of  Bruin,  whom  they  tracked  by  his  blood  some  waj? 
iento  the  bush ;  but  here  he  entirely  escaped  their  search. 


77/A   iXTliUKAK. 


\'VA 


aw 
of 


>iir 

the 

ose 
in 


CHAPTER    IX. 


THE    OUTHREAK. 


THE  long-protracted  liar '/est  was  at  length  brought  to  a 
close.     Moodie  had  procured  another  ox  from  Duninicr, 
by  giving  a  note  at  six  months'  date  for  the  payment ;  and  he 

and  John  E were  in  the  middle  of  sowing  their  fall  crop 

of  wheat,  when  the  latter  received  a  letter  from  the  old 
country,  which  conveyed  to  him  intelligence  of  the  death  of 
his  mother,  and  of  a  legacy  of  two  hundred  pounds.  It  was 
necessary  for  him  to  return  to  claim  the  property,  and  though 
we  felt  his  loss  severely,  we  could  not,  without  great  selfish- 
ness,  urge  him  to  stay.  John  had  formed  an  attachment  to  a 
young  lady  in  the  country,  who,  like  himself,  possessed  no 
property.  Their  engagement,  which  had  existed  several 
years,  had  been  dropped,  from  its  utter  hopelessness,  by  mu- 
tual consent.  Still  the  young  people  continued  to  love  each 
other,  and  to  look  forward  to  better  days,  when  their  pros- 
pects might  improve  so  far  that  E would  be  able  to  pur 

chase  a  bush  farm,  and  raise  a  house,  however  lowly,  to  shel- 
ter  his  Mary.  He,  like  our  friend  Malcolm,  had  taken  a 
fancy  to  buy  a  part  of  our  block  of  land,  which  he  could  culti 
vate  in  partnership  with  Moodie,  without  being  obliged  to 
hire,  when  the  same  barn,  cattle,  and  implements  would  serve 
for  both.  Anxious  to  free  himself  from  the  thraldom  of 
debts  which  pressed  him  sore,  Moodie  offered  to  part  with 
twc  hundred  acres  at  less  than  th<'-y  cost  us,  and  the  bargain 


144 


ROUGHIJUG  IT  IN  THE  BVSIL 


was  to  be  considered  as  concluded  directly  the  money  was 
forthcoming. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  day  when  our  young  friend  left  us ;  he 
had  been  a  constant  inmate  in  the  house  for  nine  months,  and 
not  one  unpleasant  word  had  ever  passed  between  us.  He 
had  rendered  our  sojourn  in  the  woods  more  tolerable  bj'  hia 
society,  and  sweetened  our  bitter  lot  by  his  friendship  and 
sympathy.  We  both  regarded  him  as  a  brother,  and  parted 
with  him  with  sincere  regret.  As  to  old  Jenny,  she  lifted  up 
her  voice  and  wept,  consigning  him  to  the  care  and  protectior 
of  all  the  saints  in  the  Irish  calendar.  For  several  days  aftei 
John  left  us,  a  deep  gloom  pervaded  the  house.  Our  daily 
toil  was  performed  with  less  cheerfulness  and  alacrity ;  we 
missed  him  at  the  evening  board,  and  at  the  evening  fire ; 
and  the  children  asked  each  day,  with  increasing  earnestness, 
when  dear  E would  return. 

Moodie  continued  sowing  liis  fall  wheat.  The  task  was 
nearly  completed,  and  the  chill  October  days  were  fast  verg 
ing  upon  winter,  when  towards  the  evening  of  one  of  them  he 
contrived — I  know  not  how — to  crawl  down  from  the  field  at 
the  head  of  the  hill,  faint  and  pale,  and  in  great  pain.  He 
had  broken  the  small  bone  of  his  leg.  In  dragging,  among 
the  stumps,  the  heavy  machine  (which  is  made  in  the  form  of 
the  letter  V,  and  is  supplied  with  large  iron  teeth)  had  hitchea 
upon  a  stump,  and  being  swung  off  again  by  the  motion  of  the 
oxen,  had  come  with  great  force  against  his  leg.  At  first  he 
was  struck  down,  and  for  some  time  was  unable  to  rise  ;  but 
at  length  he  contrived  to  unyoke  the  team,  and  crawled  partly 
on  his  hands  and  knees  down  the  clearing. 

What  a  sad,  melancholy  evening  that  was !  Fortuiia 
seemed  never  tired  of  playing  us  some  ugly  trick.  The  hope 
v/hich  had  so  long  sustained  me  seemed  about  to  desert  me 
altogether ;  when  I  saw^  him  on  whom  we  all  depended  for 


THE  OUTBREAK. 


145 


was 

;  he 

and 

He 

his 

and 

irted 

up 

tior 

aftei 

Jaily 


subsistence,  and  whose  kindly  voice  ever  cheered  us  under  the 
pressure  of  calamity,  smitten  down  hopeless,  all  my  courage 
and  faith  in  the  goodness  of  the  Divine  Father  seemed  to  for- 
sake me,  and  I  wept  long  and  bitterly. 

The  next  morning  I  went  in  search  of  a  messenger  to  send 
ro  Peterborough  for  the  doctor  ;  but  though  I  found  and  sent 
the  messenger,  the  doctor  never  came.  Perhaps  he  did  not 
iike  to  incur  the  expense  of  a  fatiguing  journey  with  small 
chance  of  obtaining  a  sufficient  remuneration. 

Oar  dear  sufferer  contrived,  with  assistance,  to  bandage 
his  leg ;  and  after  the  first  week  of  rest  had  expired,  he 
amused  himself  with  making  a  pair  of  crutches,  and  in  manu- 
facturing  Indian  paddles  for  the  canoe,  axe-handles,  and  yokes 
for  the  oxen.  It  was  wonderful  with  what  serenity  he  bore 
this  unexpected  affliction.  Buried  in  the  obscurity  of  those 
woods,  we  knew  nothing,  heard  nothing  of  the  political  state 
of  the  country,  and  were  little  aware  of  the  revolution  which 
was  about  to  work  a  great  change  for  us  and  for  Canada. 

The  weather  continued  remarkably  mild.  The  first  great 
snow,  which  for  years  had  ordinarily  fallen  between  the  10th 
and  15th  of  November,  still  kept  oflT.  November  passed  on, 
and  as  all  our  firewood  had  to  be  chopped  by  old  Jenny  du- 
ring the  lameness  of  my  husband,  I  was  truly  grateful  to  God 
for  the  continued  mildness  of  the  weather.  On  the  4th  of 
December — that  great  day  of  the  outbreak — Moodie  was  de- 
termined to  take  advantage  of  the  open  state  of  the  lake  to 

carry  a  large  grist  up  to  Y 's  mill.     I  urged  upon  him  the 

danger  of  a  man  attempting  to  manage  a  canoe  in  rapid  water, 
who  was  unable  to  stand  without  crutches ;  but  Moodie  saw 
that  the  children  would  need  bread,  and  he  was  anxious  to 
make  the  experiment. 

Finding  that  I  could  not  induce  him  to  give  up  the  journey, 
1  determined  to  go  with  hiin.     Old  Wittals,  who  happened  to 

VOL.  11.  7 


1^ 


y\ 


/ 


146 


BOUGHINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH, 


0 


I 


jl': 

V 

^; 

*i  1 

i 

"■        f. 


come  down  that  morning,  assisted  in  placing  the  bags  of  wheat 
in  the  little  vessel,  and  helped  to  place  Moodie  at  the  stern. 
With  a  sad,  foreboding  spirit  I  assisted  to  push  off  from  the 
shore.  The  air  was  raw  and  cold,  but  our  sail  was  not  with- 
out its  pleasure.  The  lake  was  very  full  from  the  heatvy  rains, 
and  the  canoe  bounded  over  the  waters  with  a  free,  springy 
motion.  A  sliglit  frost  had  hung  every  little  bush  and  spray 
along  the  shores  with  sparkling  crystals.  The  red  pigeon-ber- 
ries, shining  through  their  coating  of  ice,  looked  like  cornelian 
heads  set  in  silver,  and  strung  from  bush  to  bush.  We  found 
the  rapids  at  the  entrance  of  Bessikakoon  Lake  very  hard  to 
stem,  and  were  so  often  carried  back  by  the  force  of  the  water 
that,  cold  as  the  air  was,  the  great  exertion  which  Moodie  had 
to  make  use  of  to  obtain  the  desired  object.,  brought  the  perspi- 
ration out  in  big  drops  upon  his  forehead.  His  long  confine- 
ment to  the  house  and  low  diet  had  rendered  him  very  weak. 

The  old  miller  received  us  in  the  most  hearty  and  hospita- 
dIc  manner ;  and  complimented  me  upon  my  courage  in  ven- 
turing upon  the  water  in  such  cold,  rough  weather.  Norah 
was  married,  but  the  kind  Betty  provided  us  an  excellent  din- 
ner, while  we  waited  for  the  grist  to  be  ground. 

It  was  near  four  o'clock  when  we  started  on  our  return. 
If  there  had  been  danger  in  going  up  the  stream,  there  was 
more  in  coming  down.  The  wind  had  changed,  the  air  was 
frosty,  keen,  and  biting,  and  Moodie's  paddle  came  up  from 
every  dip  into  the  water,  loaded  with  ice.  For  my  part,  I 
liad  only  to  sit  still  at  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  as  we  floated 
rapidly  down  with  wind  and  tide.  At  the  landing  we  were 
met  by  old  Jenny,  who  had  a  long  story  to  tell  us,  of  which 
we  could  make  neither  head  nor  tail — how  some  gentleman 
had  called  during  our  absence,  and  left  a  large  paper,  all 
about  the  Queen  and  the  Yankees ;  that  there  was  war  be- 
tween (Vmadn  .ind  tho  ^t;itos  ;  iluvt  Toronto  had  been  burnt, 


flt^^ 


--5^ 


THE  OUTliRKAK, 


U7 


and  the  governor  killed,  and  I  know  no  what  ether  sti'ange 
and  monstrous  statements.  After  much  fatigue,  Moodie 
elimbed  the  hill,  and  we  were  once  more  safe  by  our  onmi 
firesiide.  Here  we  found  the  elucidation  of  Jenny's  marvel- 
lous tales :  a  copy  of  the  Queen's  proclamation,  calling  upon 
ail  loyal  gentlemen  to  join  in  putting  down  the  unnatural 
rebellion. 

A  letter  from  my  sister  explained  the  nature  of  the  out- 
break, and  the  astonishment  with  which  the  news  had  been 
received  by  all  the  settlers  in  the  bush.  My  brother  and  my 
sister's  husband  had  already  gone  off  to  join  some  of  the  nu- 
merous bands  of  gentlemen  who  were  collecting  from  all 
quarters  to  march  to  the  aid  of  Toronto,  which  it  was  said 
was  besieged  by  the  rebel  force.  She  advised  me  not  to 
suffer  Moodie  to  leave  home  in  his  present  weak  state  r.  but 
the  spirit  of  my  husband  was  aroused,  he  instantly  obeyed 
what  he  considered  the  imperative  call  of  duty,  and  told  mo 
to  prepare  him  a  few  necessaries,  that  he  might  be  ready  to 
start  early  in  the  morning.  Little  sleep  visited  our  eyes  that 
night.  We  talked  over  the  strange  news  fof  hours ;  our  com- 
ing separation,  and  the  probability  that  if  things  were  as  bad  fis 
they  appeared  to  be,  we  might  never  meet  again.  Our  affairs 
were  in  such  a  desperate  condition  that  Moodie  anticipated 
that  any  change  must  be  for  the  better ;  it  was  impossible  for 
them  to  be  worse.  But  the  poor,  anxious  wife  thought  only 
of  a  parting  which  to  her  put  a  finishing  stroke  to  all  her 
misf(jrtunes. 

Before  the  cold,  snowy  morning  broke,  we  were  all  stirring. 
The  children,  who  had  learned  that  their  father  was  preparing 
to  leave  them,  were  crying  and  clinging  round  his  knees.  His 
heart  was  too  deeply  affected  to  eat ;  the  meal  passed  over  in 
silence,  and  he  rose  to  go.  I  put  on  my  hat  and  shawl  V)  ac- 
company  him  through  the  »vood  »:i8  fur  »g  rny  sistei  Mrs, 


/ 


148 


ROUGHING  IT  m  THE  BUSH. 


■„  'i 


I  i 


m 


*;.■ 


'4 
'.ii 


mg. 


-'s.  The  day  was  like  our  destiny,  cold,  dark,  and  lower- 
I  gave  the  dear  invalid  his  crutches,  and  we  commenced 
our  sorrowful  walk.  Then  old  Jenny's  lamentations  burst 
forth,  as,  flinging  her  arms  round  my  husband's  neck,  she 
kissed  and  blessed  him  after  the  fashion  of  hel  country. 

"  Och  hone !  och  hone  !"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands, 
"masther  dear,  why  will  you  lave  tlie  wife  and  the  childher] 
The  poor  crathur  is  breakin'  her  heart  intirely  at  partin'  wid 
you.  Shure  an'  the  war  is  nothin'  to  you,  that  you  must  be 
goin'  into  danger ;  an'  you  wid  a  broken  leg.  Och  hone  !  och 
hone !  come  back  to  your  home — you  will  be  kilt,  and  thin 
what  will  become  of  the  wife  and  the  wee  bairns  ]" 

Her  cries  and  lamentations  followed  us  into  the  wood.  At 
my  sister's,  Moodie  and  I  parted ;  and  with  a  heavy  heart  I 
retraced  my  steps  through  the  wood.  For  once,  I  forgot  all 
my  fears.  I  never  felt  the  cold.  Sad  tears  were  flowing  ovei 
my  cheeks ;  when  I  entered  the  house,  hope  seemed  to  have 
deserted  me,  and  for  upwards  of  an  hour  I  lay  upon  the  bed 
and  wept.  Poor  Jenny  did  her  best  to  comfort  me,  but  all  joy 
had  vanished  with  him  who  was  my  light  of  life.  Left  in  the 
most  absolute  uncertainty  as  to  the  real  state  of  public  affairs, 
I  could  only  conjecture  what  might  be  the  result  of  this  sud- 
den outbreak.  Several  poor  settlers  called  at  the  house  during 
the  day,  on  their  way  down  to  Peterborough ;  but  they 
brought  with  them  the  most  exaggerated  accounts.  There  had 
been  a  battle,  they  said,  with  the  rebels,  and  the  loyalists  had 
been  defeated ;  Toronto  was  besieged  by  sixty  thousand  men, 
and  all  the  men  in  the  backwoods  were  ordeied  to  march  in- 
stantly to  the  relief  of  the  city. 

In  the  evening,  I  received  a  note  from  Emilia,  who  was  at 
Peterborough,  in  which  she  informed  me  that  my  husband 

had  borrowed  a  horse  of  Mr.  S ,  and  had  joined  a  large 

party  of  two  hundred  volunteers,  who  had  left  that  morning 


'-L 


THE  OUTBREAK. 


149 


lower- 
nenced 
I  burst 
.k,  she 

r 
• 

hands, 
ildher] 
;in'  wid 
nust  be 
le !  och 
nd  thin 

od.   At 
heart  I 
irgot  all 
ng  ovei 
to  have 
the  bed 
t  all  joy 
ft  in  the 
e  affairs, 
this  sud- 
e  during 
ut    they 
lore  had 
lists  had 
tnd  men, 
narch  in- 

o  was  at 
husband 

d  a  large 
morning 


for  Toronto ;  that  there  had  been  a  battle  with  the  insiu'gents ; 
that  Colonel  Moodie  had  been  killed,  and  the  rebels  had  re- 
treated ;  and  that  she  hoped  my  husband  would  return  in  a 
few  days.  The  honest  backwoodsmen,  perfectly  ignorant  of 
the  abuses  that  had  led  to  the  present  position  of  things,  re. 
garded  the  rebels  as  a  set  of  monsters,  for  whom  no  punish- 
merit  was  too  severe,  and  obeyed  the  call  to  arms  with  en- 
thusiasm. The  leader  of  the  insurgents  must  have  been 
astonished  at  the  rapidity  with  which  a  large  force  was  col- 
lected, as  if  by  magic,  to  repel  his  designs.  A  great  number 
of  these  volunteers  were  half-pay  officers,  many  of  whom  had 
fought  in  the  continental  wars  with  the  armies  of  Napoleon, 
and  would  have  been  found  a  host  in  themselves. 

hi  a  week,  Moodie  returned.  So  many  volunteers  had 
poured  into  Toronto  that  the  number  of  friends  was  liivcly 
to  prove  as  disastrous  as  that  of  enemies,  on  account  of  tho 
want  of  supplies  to  maintain  them  all.  The  companies  from 
the  back  townships  had  been  remanded,  and  I  received  with 
delight  my  own  again.  But  this  reunion  did  not  last  long. 
Several  regiments  of  militia  were  formed  to  defend  the 
colony,  and  to  my  husband  was  given  the  rank  of  captain  in 
one  of  those  then  stationed  in  Toronto. 

On  the  20th  of  January,  1838,  he  bade  us  a  long  adieu. 
I  was  left  with  old  Jenny  and  the  children  to  take  care  of  the 
farm.  It  was  a  sad,  dull  time.  I  could  bear  up  against  all 
trials  with  him  to  comfort  and  cheer  me,  but  his  long-con- 
tinued absence  cast  a  gloom  upon  my  spirit  not  easily  to  be 
shaken  off.  Still  his  very  appointment  to  this  situation  was  a 
Kignal  act  of  mercy.  From  his  full  pay,  he  was  enabled  to 
liquidate  many  pressing  debts,  and  tD  send  home  from  time 
to  time  sums  of  money  to  procure  necessaries  for  me  and 
the  little  ones.  Tliese  remittances  were  greatly  wanted ;  but 
I  demurred  before  laying  them  out  for  comforts  which  we 


i/ 


1 


t. 


^i 


li^t' 


#ii 


jyA 


:l  £'    9  1 


i 


150 


BOUGinXG  IT  IN  THE  hUSH. 


had  been  so  long  used  to  dispense  with.  It  seemed  almost 
criminal  to  purchase  any  article  of  luxury,  such  as  tea  and 
f?ugar,  while  a  debt  remained  unpaid. 

The  Y 's  were  very  pressing  for  the  thirty  pounds  that 

we  owed  them  for  the  clearing  ;  but  they  had  such  a  firm  reli- 
ance upon  the  honour  of  my  husband,  that,  poor  and  pressed 
for  money  as  they  were,  they  never  sued  us.  I  thought  it 
would  be  a  pleasing  surprise  to  Moodie,  if,  with  the  sums  of 
money  which  1  occasionally  received  from  him,  I  could  dimin- 
ish this  debt,  which  had  always  given  him  the  greatest  unea- 
siness ;  and,  my  resolution  once  formed,  I  would  not  allow 
any  temptation  to  shake  it.  The  money  was  always  trans- 
mitted to  Dummer.  I  only  reserved  the  sum  of  two  doll^trs 
a-month,  to  pay  a  little  lad  to  chop  wood  for  us.  After  a 
time,  I  began  to  think  the  Y 's  were  gifted  with  second- 
sight  ;  for  I  never  received  a  money-letter,  but  the  very  next 
day  I  was  sure  to  see  some  of  the  family. 

Just  at  this  period  I  received  a  letter  from  a  gentleman, 
requesting  me  to  write  for  a  magazine  (the  Literary  Garland)^ 
just  started  in  Montreal,  with  promise  to  remunerate  me  foi 
my  labours.  Such  ar  application  was  like  a  gleam  of  ligh/ 
springing  up  in  the  darkness ;  it  seemed  to  promise  the  dawn 
ing  of  a  brighter  day.  I  had  never  been  able  to  turn  mj 
thoughts  towards  literature  during  my  sojourn  in  the  bush. 
When  the  body  is  fatigued  with  labour,  unwonted  and  beyond 
its  strength,  the  mind  is  in  no  condition  for  mental  occupation. 

The  year  before,  I  had  been  requested  by  an  American 
author,  of  great  merit,  to  contribute  to  the  North  American 
Review^  published  for  several  years  in  Philadelphia ;  and  he 
promised  to  remunerate  me  in  proportion  to  the  success  of 
the  work.  I  had  contrived  to  write  several  articles  after  the 
children  were  asleep,  though  the  expense  even  of  the  station- 
ery and  the  postage  of  the  manuscripts  was  severely  felt  by 


■'^^'''l^giiv'-PTTl-Wil^-J'.Hl'i.W'H'.yamUBIfJU.'MaJLi'JgJWg 


THE  01  Tin: I- Ah'. 


151 


one  so  destitute  of  means ;  but  the  hope  of  being  of  the  least 
Bervice  to  those  dear  to  me  cheered  me  to  the  task.  I  never 
realized  any  thing  from  that  source ;  but  I  believe  it  was  not 
the  fault  of  the  editor.  Several  other  American  editors  had 
written  to  me  to  furnish  them  with  articles  ;  but  I  was  unable 
to  pay  the  postage  of  heavy  packets  to  the  States,  and  they 
couju  not  reach  their  destination  without  being  paid  to  the 
frontier.     Thus,  all  chance  of  making  any  thing  in  that  way 

had  been  abandoned.     I  wrote  to  Mr.  L ,  and  frankly  m- 

formed  him  how  I  was  situated.  In  the  most  liberal  manner, 
he  offered  to  pay  the  postage  on  all  manuscripts  to  his  oflice, 
and  left  me  to  name  mv  own  terms  of  remuneration,  lliis 
opened  up  a  new  era  in  my  existence ;  and  for  many  years 
I  have  found  in  this  generous  man,  to  whom  I  am  still  perwun- 
ally  unknown,  a  steady  friend.  I  actually  shed  tears  of  joy 
over  the  first  twenty-dollar  bill  I  received  from  Montreal. 
It  was  my  own  ;  I  had  earned  it  with  my  own  hand  ;  and  it 
seemed  to  my  delighted  fancy  to  form  the  nucleus  out  of 
which  a  future  independence  for  my  family  might  arise.  1 
no  longer  retired  to  bed  when  the  labours  of  the  day  were 
over.  I  sa  up,  and  wrote  by  the  light  of  a  strange  sort  of 
candles,  that  Jenny  called  "  sluts,"  and  which  the  old  womar 
manufactured  out  of  pieces  of  old  rags,  twisted  together  and 
dipped  in  pork  lard,  and  stuck  in  a  bottle.  They  did  not  give 
a  bad  light,  but  it  took  a  great  many  of  them  to  last  me  for  a 
few  hours. 

The  faithful  old  creature  regarded  my  writings  with  a 
jealous  eye.  "  An',  shure,  it's  killin'  yerself  that  you  are  in- 
tirely.  You  were  thin  enough  before  you  took  to  the  pen ; 
scribblin'  an'  scrabblin'  when  you  should  be  in  bed  an'  asleep. 
What  good  will  it  be  to  the  childhren,  dear  heart !  if  ^oa  die 
afore  your  time,  by  wastin'  your  strength  afther  that  fashion  f 

Jenny  never  could  conceive  the  use  of  books.     "Shure, 


m 


(•i!; 


r 


152 


ROUQHINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


we  can  live  and  die  widout  them.  It's  only  a  waste  of  time 
botherin'  your  brains  wid  the  like  of  them  ;  but,  thank  good- 
ness! the  lard  Mill  soon  be  all  done,  an'  thin  we  shall  hear 
you  spakin'  again,  instead  of  sittin'  there  doubled  up  all 
night,  desthroying  your  eyes  wid   porin'   over  the  dirthy 


» j» 


writ  in 

As  the  sugar-making  season  drew  near,  Jenny  conceived 
the  bold  thought  of  making  a  good  lum'p  of  sugar,  that  the 
"childher"  might  have  something  to  "ate"  with  their  bread 
during  the  summer.  We  had  no  sugar-kettle,  but  a  neigh- 
bour promised  to  lend  us  his,  and  to  give  us  twenty-eight 
troughs,  on  condition  that  we  gave  him  half  the  sugar  we 
made.  These  terms  were  rather  hard,  but  Jenny  was  so 
anxious  to  fulfil  the  darling  object  that  we  consented.  Little 
Sol  and  the  old  woman  made  some  fifty  troughs  more,  the 
trees  were  duly  tapped,  a  shanty  in  the  bush  was  erected  of 
small  logs  and  brush  and  covered  in  at  the  top  with  straw ; 
and  the  old  woman  and  Solomon,  the  hired  boy,  commenced 
operations. 

The  very  first  day,  a  terrible  accident  happened  to  us ;  a 
large  log  fell  upon  the  sugar-kettle — the  borrowed  sugar-ket- 
tle— and  cracked  it,  spilling  all  the  sap,  and  rendering  thi' 
vessel,  which  had  cost  four  dollars,  useless.  We  were  all  in 
dismay.  Just  at  that  time  Old  Wittals  happened  to  pass,  on 
his  way  to  Peterborough.  He  very  good-naturedly  offered  to 
get  the  kettle  repaired  for  us  ;  which,  he  said,  could  be  easily 
done  by  a  rivet  and  an  iron  hoop.  But  where  was  the  money 
to  come  from !  I  thought  awhile.  Katie  had  a  magnificent 
coral  and  bells,  the  gift  of  her  godfather ;  I  asked  the  dear 

child  if  she  would  give  it  to  buy  another  kettle  for  Mr.  T . 

She  said,  "  I  would  give  ten  times  as  much  to  help  mamma," 

1  wrote  a  little  note  to  Emilia,  who  was  still  at  her  father's ; 
aad  Mr.  W ,  the  storekeeper,  sent  us  a  fine  sugar-kettle 


'.  f  .1  Km  !^  T  ■■  ywpjTOHf  .miitLitlil'l. .  JLH.UHJiti^MBg 


2'HE  OUTBREAK. 


153 


lirthy 


back  by  Wittals,  and  also  the  other  mended,  in  exchange  for 
tho  useless  piece  of  finery.  We  had  now  two  kettles  at  work, 
to  the  j(jy  of  Jenny,  who  declared  that  it  was  a  lucky  fairy 
who  hiid  broken  the  old  kettle. 

While  Jenny  was  engaged  in  boiling  and  gathering  the  sap 
in  the  bush,  I  sugared  off  the  syrup  in  the  house ;  an  operation 
watched  by  the  children  with  intense  interest.  After  standing 
all  day  over  the  hot  stove-fire,  it  was  quite  a  refreshment  to 
breathe  the  pure  air  at  night.  Every  evening  I  ran  up  to  see 
Jenny  in  the  bush,  singing  and  boiling  down  the  sap  in  the 
front  of  her  little  shanty.  The  old  woman  was  in  her  element, 
and  afraid  of  nothing  under  the  stars ;  she  slept  beside  her 
kettles  at  night,  and  snapped  her  fingers  at  the  idea  of  the 
least  danger.  She  was  sometimes  rather  despotic  in  her 
treatment  of  her  attendant,  Sol.  One  morning,  in  particular, 
she  bestowed  upon  the  lad  a  severe  cuffing.  1  ran  up  the 
clearing  to  the  rescue,  when  my  ears  were  assailed  by  the 
"  ooo-hooing"  of  the  boy. 

"What  has  happened?  Why  do  you  beat  the  chih', 
Jenny  ?" 

"  It's  jist,  thin,  I  that  will  bate  him — the  unlucky  omad- 
hawn !  Has  he  not  spilt  and  spiled  two  buckets  of  syrup, 
that  I  have  been  the  live-long  night  bilin'.  Sorra  wid  him ; 
I'd  like  to  strip  the  skin  off  him,  I  would !  Musha !  but  'tis 
enough  to  vex  a  saint." 

'•  Ah,  Jenny  !"  blubbered  the  poor  boy,  "  but  you  have  *i:f 
mercy.  You  forget  that  I  have  but  one  eye,  and  that  1  could 
not  see  the  root  which  caught  my  foot  and  threw  me  down." 

"  Faix  !  an'  'tis  a  pity  that  you  have  the  one  eye,  when 
you  don't  know  how  to  make  a  betther  use  of  it,"  muttered  the 
angry  dame,  as  she  picked  up  the  pails,  and,  pushing  him  on 
before  her,  beat  a  retreat  into  the  bush. 

I  was  heartily  sick  of  the  sugar-making,  long  before  the 

VOL.  II.  7* 


.H" 


ft   M 

If 


I 


i  I  I'll 

■I  ';! 
■•Ill 


154 


ROUaifINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


season  was  over ;  however,  we  were  well  paid  for  <  ur 
ti'ouble.  Besides  one  hundred  and  twelve  pounds  of  fine  soft 
sugar,  as  good  as  Muscovado,  we  had  six  gallons  of  molasses, 
and  a  keg  containing  six  gallons  of  oxeellctit  vinegar. 

Fifty  pounds  went  to  Mr.  T ,  for  the  use  of  his  ko'lK". : 

and  the  rest  (with  the  exception  of  a  cake  for  Emilia,  which  1 
had  draii;  1  in  a  wet  flannel  bag  until  it  was  almost  as  w!;;t'? 
as  ioaf  sugar)  we  kept  for  our  own  use.  There  was  no  lack, 
this  year,  of  nice  preserves  and  pickled  cucumbers,  dainties 
found  in  every  native  Canadian  estahiishment. 

Besides  gaining  a  little  money  with  my  pen,  I  practised  a 
method  of  painting  birds  and  butterflies  upon  the  white,  vel- 
vety surface  of  the  large  fungi  that  grow  plentifully  upon  the 
bark  of  the  sugar-maple.  These  had  an  attractive  appear- 
ance; and  my  brother,  who  wa'^  a  captain  in  one  of  the  pro- 
visional regiments,  sold  a  great  many  of  them  among  the 
officers,  without  sa}  ing  by  whom  they  w^ere  painted.  One 
rich  lady  in  Peterborough,  long  since  dead,  ordered  two  dozen 
to  send  as  curiosities  to  England.  These,  at  one  shilling  each, 
enabled  me  to  buy  shoes  for  the  children,  who,  during  our 
bad  times,  had  been  forced  to  di;-[)ense  with  these  necessary 
coverings.  How  often,  during  the  >sinter  season,  have  I  wept 
over  their  little  chapped  feet,  literally  washing  them  with  my 
tears  !  But  these  days  were  to  end ;  Providence  was  doing 
great  things  for  us ;  and  Hope  raised  at  last  her  drooping 
.head  to  regard  with  a  brighter  glance  the  far-off  future. 

Slowly  the  winter  rolled  away  ;  but  he  to  whom  every 
thought  turned  was  still  distant  from  his  humble  home.  The 
receipt  of  an  occasional  letter  from  him  was  my  only  solace 
during  his  long  absence,  and  we  were  still  too  poor  to  indulge 
often  in  this  luxury.  My  poor  Katie  was  as  anxious  as  her 
mother  to  hear  frcmi  her  father  ;  and  when  I  did  get  the  long- 
looked-for  prize,  she  would  kneel  down  before  me,  her  little 


THE  OUrhUEAS. 


155 


elbows  resting  on  my  knees,  ncr  head  thrown  back,  and  the 
tears  trickling  down  her  innocent  cheeks,  eagerly  drinking  in 
every  word. 

The  spring  brought  us  plenty  of  work ;  we  had  potatoes 
and  corn  to  plant,  and  the  garden  to  cultivate.  By  lending 
my  oxen  for  two  days'  work,  1  got  Wiltals,  who  had  no  oxen, 
to  drag  me  in  a  few  aci'cs  of  oats,  and  to  prepare  the  land  for 
potatoes  and  corn.  The  former  I  dropped  into  the  earth, 
while  Jenny  covered  them  up  with  the  hoe. 

Our  garden  was  well  dug  and  plentifully  manured,  the  old 
woman  bringing  the  manure,  which  hud  lain  for  several  year? 
at  the  barn  door,  down  to  the  plot,  in  a  large  Indian  basket 
j)laced  upon  a  hand-sleigh.  We  had  soon  every  sort  of  veg 
etable  sown,  with  plenty  of  melons  and  cucumbers,  and  all 
our  beds  promised  a  good  return.  There  were  large  flights 
of  ducks  upon  the  lake  every  night  and  morning;  but  thougJ 
we  had  guns,  we  did  not  know  now  to  use  them.  However, 
I  thought  of  a  plan,  which  I  flattered  myself  might  pr-jVd 
successful ;  I  got  Sol  to  plant  two  >takes  in  the  shallow  water, 
near  the  rice  beds,  and  to  liese  I  attached  a  slender  rope, 
made  by  braiding  long  strips  of  the  inner  bark  of  the  bass- 
wood  together ;  to  these  again  I  fastened,  at  regular  Intervals, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  yard  of  whi}  -cord,  headed  by  a  strong 
perch-hook.  Tliese  hooks  I  baited  with  fish  offiil,  leaving  them 
to  float  just  under  the  water.  Early  next  morning,  I  saw  a 
fine  black  duck  fluttering  upon  the  line.  The  boy  ran  down 
with  the  paddles,  but  before  he  could  reach  the  spot,  the  cap 
tiVe  got  away  by  carrying  the  hook  and  line  with  him.  At 
the  next  stake  he  found  upon  the  hooks  a  large  eel  and  a  cat- 
fish. 

I  had  never  before  seen  one  of  those  whiskered,  toad-like 
natives  of  the  Ca»iadian  waters  (so  common  to  the  Bay  of 
Quinte,  where  they  grow  to  a  great  size),  that  I  was  really 


■^'Il'ii! 


I' 


150 


ROUGH  I  SO  IT  IN  THE  HUSH. 


terrified  at  the  sight  of  the  hideous  beast,  and  told  Sol  k 
throw  it  away.  In  this  I  was  very  f(»olish,  for  they  are 
esteemed  good  eating  in  many  parts  of  Canada ;  but  to  me, 
the  sight  of  the  reptile-lilc?.  thing  is  enough — it  is  uglier,  and 
far  more  disgusting-looking  than  a  toad. 

When  the  trees  came  into  leaf,  and  the  meadows  were 
green,  and  flushed  with  flowers,  the  poor  children  used  to  talk 
constantly  to  me  of  their  father's  return  ;  their  innocent  prat- 
tle made  me  very  sad.  Every  evening  we  walked  into  the 
wood,  along  the  path  that  he  must  come  whenever  he  did 
return  home,  to  meet  him ;  and  though  it  was  a  vain  hope, 
and  the  walk  was  taken  just  to  amuse  the  little  ones,  1  used 
to  be  silly  enough  to  feel  deeply  disappointed  when  we  re- 
turned alone.  Donald,  who  was  a  mere  baby  when  his  father 
left  us,  could  just  begin  to  put  words  together.  "Who  is 
papa  ?"  "  When  will  he  come  ?"  "  Will  he  come  by  the 
road  ?"  "  Will  he  come  in  a  canoe  V  The  little  creature's 
curiosity  to  see  this  unknown  father  was  really  amusing; 
and  oh !  how  I  longed  to  present  the  little  fellow,  with  his 
rosy  cheeks  and  curling  hair,  to  his  father ;  he  was  sc 
fair,  so  altogether  charming  in  my  eyes.  Emilia  had  called 
him  Cedric  the  Saxon ;  and  he  well  suited  the  name, 
with  his  frank,  honest  disposition,  and  large,  loving  blue 
eyes. 

June  had  commenced ;  the  weather  was  very  warm,  ajid 

Mr.  T had  sent  for  the  loan  of  old  Jenny  to  help  him  for 

a  day  with  his  potatoes.  I  had  just  prepared  dinner  when 
the  old  woman  came  shrieking  like  a  mad  thing  down  the 
clearing,  and  waving  her  hands  towards  me.  I  could  not 
imagine  what  had  happened. 

"  Ninny's  mad  !"  whispered  Dunbar  ;  "  she's  the  oH  girl 
for  making  a  noise." 

"  Joy  !  joy  !"  bawled  out  the  old  woman,  now  running 


THE  OUTIiRKAK. 


157 


breathlessly  towards  us.     *  The  masther's  come — the  nia» 
ther's  come  !" 

"  Where  ?— where  ?" 

"Jist  above  \\\  the  wood.  Goodness  gracious!  I  have 
nm  to  let  you  know — so  fast — that  my  heart — is  like  to — 
break." 

Without  stopping  to  comfort  poor  Jenny,  off  started  the 
children  and  myself,  at  the  very  top  of  our  speed  ;  but  1  soor 
found  that  I  could  not  run — I  was  too  mucii  agitated.  I  got 
to  the  head  of  the  bush,  and  sat  down  upon  a  fallen  tree. 
The  children  sprang  forward  like  wild  kids,  all  but  Donald, 
who  remained  with  his  old  nurse.  I  covered  my  face  with 
my  hands ;  my  heart,  too,  was  beating  audibly  :  and  now 
that  he  was  come,  and  was  so  near  me,  I  scarcely  could  com- 
mand strength  to  meet  him.  The  sound  of  happy  young 
voices  roused  me  up ;  the  children  were  leading  him  along  in 
triumph ;  and  he  was  bending  down  to  them,  all  smiles,  but 
hot  and  tired  with  his  long  journey.  It  was  almost  worth 
our  separation,  that  blissful  meeting.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
was  at  home,  and  the  childre;  upon  his  knees.  Katie  stood 
silently  holding  his  hand,  but  Addie  and  Dunbar  had  a 
thousand  things  to  tell  him.  Donald  was  frightened  at  his 
military  dress,  but  he  peeped  at  him  from  behind  my  gown, 
\nitil  I  caught  and  placed  him  in  his  father's  arms. 

His  leave  of  absence  only  extended  to  a  fortnight.  It  had  ' 
taken  him  three  days  to  come  all  the  way  from  Lake  Erie, 
where  his  regiment  was  stationed,  at  Point  Abino ;  and  the 
same  time  would  be  consumed  in  his  return.  He  could  only 
remain  with  us  eight  days.  How  soon  they  fled  away  !  How 
bitter  was  the  thought  of  parting  with  him  again !     He  had 

brought  money  to  pay  the  J 's.     How  surprised  he  was 

to  find  their  large  debt  more  than  half  liquidated.     How 
gently  did  he  chide  me  for  depriving  myself  and  the  children 


\ 


V 

•i 


w 

I. 


15P 


ROUQHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSIL 


\ 


of  the  little  comforts  he  had  designed  for  us,  in  order  to  midce 
this  sacrifice.  But  never  was  self-denial  more  fully  rewarded ; 
1  felt  happy  in  having  contributed  in  the  least  to  pay  a  just 
debt  to  kind  and  worthy  people.  You  must  become  poor 
yourself  before  you  can  fully  appreciate  the  good  qualities  of 
the  poor — before  you  can  sympathize  with  them,  and  fully 
recognize  them  as  your  brethren  in  the  flesh.  Their  benev- 
olence to  each  other,  exercised  amidst  want  and  privation,  as 
far  surpasses  the  munificence  of  the  rich  towards  them,  as  the 
exalted  philanthropy  of  Christ  and  his  disciples  does  the 
Christianity  of  the  present  day.  The  rich  man  gives  from 
his  abundance ;  the  poor  man  shares  with  a  distressed  com- 
rade his  all. 

One  short,  happy  week  too  soon  fled  away,  and  we  were 
once  more  alone.  In  the  fall,  my  husband  expected  the  reg- 
iment in  which  he  held  his  commission  would  be  reduced, 
which  would  again  plunge  us  into  the  same  distressing  pov- 
erty. Often  of  a  night  I  revolved  these  things  in  my  mind, 
and  perplexed  myself  with  conjectures  as  to  what  in  future 
was  to  become  of  us.  Although  he  had  saved  all  he  could 
from  his  pay,  it  was  impossible  to  pay  several  hundreds  of 
pounds  of  debt ;  and  the  steamboat  stock  still  continue m  a 
dead  letter.  To  remain  much  longer  in  the  woods  was  im- 
possible, for  the  returns  from  the  farm  scarcely  fed  us ;  and 
but  for  the  clothing  sent  us  by  friends  from  home,  who  were 
not  aware  of  our  real  difficulties,  we  should  have  been  badly 
off  indeed. 

I  pondered  over  every  plan  that  thought  could  devise ;  at 
last,  I  prayed  to  the  Almighty  to  direct  me  as  to  what  would 
be  the  best  course  for  us  to  pursue.  A  sweet  assurance  stole 
over  me,  and  soothed  my  spirit,  that  God  would  provide  for 
us,  as  lie  had  hitherto  done — that  a  great  deal  of  our  distress 
arose  from  want  of  faith.     I  was  just  sinking  into  a  calm  sleep 


THE  OUTBREJ.K, 


150 


make 
arded ; 
a  just 
e  poor 
ties  of 
fully 
benev. 
ion,  as 
as  the 
es   the 
5  from 
1  coni- 

e  were 

le  reg- 

iduced, 

%  pov- 

mind, 

future 

!  could 

3ds  of 

lUBM   a 

is  im- 
;  and 
were 
badly 

e;  at 
^'ould 
stole 
B  for 
'tress 
3]eep 


when  the  thought  seemed  whispered  into  my  soul,  "  Write  ta 
the  Governor;  tell  him  candidly  all  you  have  suffered  during 
your  sojourn  in  this  country ;  and  trust  to  God  for  the  rest." 

At  firsf":  I  paid  little  heed  to  this  suggestion ;  but  it  became 
so  impormnate  that  at  last  I  determined  to  act  upon  it  as  if 
it  were  a  message  sent  from  heaven.  I  rose  from  my  bed, 
struck  a  light,  sat  down,  and  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Lieutenant- 
Governor,  Sir  George  Arthur,  a  simple  statement  of  facts, 
leaving  it  to  his  benevolence  to  pardon  the  liberty  I  hiid  taken 
in  addressing  him. 

1  asked  of  him  to  continue  my  husband  in  the  militia  service, 
in  the  same  regiment  in  which  he  now  held  the  rank  of  cap- 
tain, which,  by  enabling  him  to  pay  our  debts,  would  rescue 
us  from  our  present  misery.  Of  the  political  character  of  Sir 
George  Arthur  I  knew  nothing.  I  addressed  him  as  a  man 
and  a  Christian;  and  I  acknowledge,  with  the  deepest  and 
most  heartfelt  gratitude,  the  generous  kindness  of  his  conduct 
towards  us.  Before  the  day  dawned,  my  letter  was  ready  for 
the  post.  The  first  secret  I  ever  had  from  my  husband  was 
the  writing  of  that  letter ;  and,  proud  and  sensitive  as  he  was, 
and  averse  to  asking  the  least  favour  of  the  great,  I  was  dreM':^ 
fully  afraid  that  the  act  I  had  just  done  would  be  displea;.Iiig 
to  him ;  still,  I  felt  resolutely  determined  to  send  it.  After 
giving  the  children  their  breakfast,  1  walked  down  and  read 
it  to  my  brother-in-law,  who  was  not  only  much  pleased  with 
its  contents,  but  took  it  down  himself  to  the  post-office. 

Shortly  after,  I  received  a  letter  from  my  husband,  inform- 
ing  me  that  the  regiment  had  been  reduced,  and  that  he  should 
be  home  in  time  to  get  in  the  harvest..  Most  anxiously  I 
awaited  a  reply  to  my  application  to  the  Governor ;  but  no 
reply  came. 

The  first  week  in  August  our  dear  Moodie  came  home, 
and  brought  with  him,  to  our  no  small  joy,  J.  E ,  who 


H 


f 


I! 


IP 


IGO 


ROUGinNG  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


had  just  returned  from  Ireland .     E had  been  ^^'^)VO\'iia\ 

about  the  money,  which  was  subject  to  litigation  ;  and,  tired 
of  waiting  at  home  until  the  tedious  process  of  the  law  should 
terminate,  he  had  come  back  to  the  woods,  and,  before  night, 
was  reinstated  in  his  old  quarters. 

His  presence  made  Jenny  all  alive ;  she  dared  him  at  once 

to  a  trial  of  skill  with  her  in  the  wheat  field,  which  E 

prudently  declined.  He  did  not  expect  to  stay  longer  in 
Canada  than  the  fall,  but,  whilst  he  did  stay,  he  was  to  con- 
sider our  house  his  home. 

That  harvest  was  the  happiest  we  ever  spent  in  the  bush. 
We  had  enough  of  the  common  necessaries  of  life.  A  spirit 
of  peace  and  harmony  pervaded  our  little  dwelling,  for  the 
most  affectionate  attachment  existed  among  its  members. 
We  were  not  troubled  with  servants,  for  the  good  old  Jenny 
we  regarded  as  an  humble  friend,  and  were  freed,  by  that  cir- 
cumstance, from  many  of  the  cares  and  vexations  of  a  bush 
Jfe.  Our  evening  excursions  on  the  lake  were  doubly  en 
joyed  after  the  labours  of  the  day,  and  night  brought  us  caina 
and  healthful  repose. 


.-J 


tired 

Ihoiilrj 

light, 


THE   WHIRLWIND. 


once 

|er  in 

con- 


CHAPTER    X. 


THE    WHIRLWIND. 


-/^^■|k  came,  and  our  little  harvest  was  all 
id.^^BRi 


THE  19ti.  of 
safely  housedl^BRiness  called  Moodie  away  for  a  few 
days  to  Cobourg.     Jenny  had  gone  to  Dumnicr,  to  visit  hei 

friends,  and  J.  E had  taken  a  grist  of  the  new  wheat, 

which  he  and  Moodie  had  threshed  tlie  day  hefore,  to  the  mill. 
1  was  consequently  left  alone  with  the  children,  and  had  a 
doi.ole  portion  of  work  to  do.  During  their  absence  it  was 
my  lot  to  witness  the  most  awful  storm  1  ever  beheld,  and  a 
vivid  recollection  of  its  terrors  was  permanently  fixed  upon 
my  memory. 

The  weather  had  been  intensely  hot  during  the  three  pj  e- 
ceding  days,  although  the  sun  was  entirely  obscured  by  a 
blueish  haze,  which  seemed  to  render  the  unusual  heat  of  the 
atmosphere  more  oppressive.  Not  a  breath  of  air  stirred  the 
vast  forest,  and  the  waters  of  the  lake  assumed  a  leaden  hue. 
After  passing  a  sleepless  night,  I  arose,  a  little  after  daybreak, 
to  superintend  my  domestic  afl'airs.  E took  his  break- 
fast, and  went  off  to  the  mill,  hoping  that  the  rain  would  keep 
ofl' until  after  his  return. 

"  It  is  no  joke,"  he  said,  "  being  upon  these  lakes  in  a  small 
canoe,  heavily  laden,  in  a  storm." 

Before  the  sun  rose,  the  heavens  were  covered  with  hard- 
looking  clouds,  of  a  deep  blue  and  black  cast,  fading  away  to 
white  at  their  edges,  and  in  form  resembling  the  long,  rolling 


1(52 


ROUGHISG  W  IN  THE  BUSH. 


waves  of  a  heavy  sea — but  with  this  dilTerenco,  that  the  clouds 
were  perfectly  motionless,  piled  in  long  curved  lines,  one  above 
the  other,  and  so  remained  until  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
The  ajipearance  of  these  clouds,  as  the  sun  rose  above  the  hori- 
zon, was  the  most  splendid  that  can  be  ijnagined,  tinged  up  to 
the  zenith  with  every  shade  of  saffron,  gold,  rose-colour,  scarlet, 
and  crimson,  fading  away  into  the  deepest  violet.  Never  did 
the  storm-fiend  shake  in  the  face  of  day  a  more  gorgeous  ban- 
ner ;  and,  pressed  as  I  was  for  time,  I  stood  gazing  like  one 
entranced  upon  the  magnificent  pageaii[dB^ 

As  the  day  advanced,  the  same  M^naze  obscured  the 
sun,  which  frowned  redly  through  his  misty  veil.  At  ten 
o'clock  the  heat  was  sufiTocating,  and  I  extinguished  the  fire  in 
the  cooking-stove,  determined  to  make  our  meals  upon  bread 
a^'.i  milk,  rather  than  add  to  the  oppressive  heat.  The  ther- 
mometer in  the  shade  ranged  from  ninety-six  to  ninety-eight 
degrees,  and  I  gave  over  my  work  and  retired  with  the  little 
ones  to  the  coolest  part  of  the  house.  The  young  creatures 
stretched  themselves  upon  the  floor,  unable  to  jump  about  or 
play ;  the  dog  lay  panting  in  the  shade  ;  the  fowls  half  buried 
themselves  in  the  dust,  with  open  beaks  and  outstretched  wings. 
All  nature  seemed  to  droop  beneath  the  scorching  heat. 

Unfortunately  for  me,  a  gentleman  arrived  about  one 
o'clock  from  Kingston,  to  transact  some  business  wath  my 
husband.  He  had  not  tasted  food  since  six  o'clock,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  kindle  the  fire  to  prepare  his  dinner.  It  Mas  one 
of  the  hardest  tasks  I  over  ',;  ifjn.ird  ;  I  almost  fainted  with 
the  heat,  and  most  inho-^pitrJily  rejf>ii'erl  when  his  dinner  was 
over,  and  I  saw  him  depart.     Shortly  afterwards,  my  friend 

Mrs.  C and  her  brother  ctilh.d  in,  on  their  way  from 

Peterborough. 

"  How  do  you  bear  the  heat  V''  asked  Mrs.  C . 


-.     "  This 
is  one  of  the  hottest  days  I  ever  reinember  to  have  experienced 


THE   WHIKL  WIND, 


10)3 


in  this  part  of  the  province.     I  am  afraid  that  it  vdW  end  in 
a  hurricane,  or  what  the  Lower  Canadians  term  '  L'Orage.' " 

About  four  o'clock  they  rose;  to  go.     I  urged  them  to  stav 

longer.     "  No,"  said  Mrs.  C ,  '•  the  sooner  we  gel!  homa 

the  better.     I  think  we  can  reach  it  before  the  storm  breaks.'' 

I  took  Donald  in  my  arms,  and  my  eldest  boy  by  the 
hand,  and  walked  with  them  to  the  brow  of  the  hill,  thinking 
that  the  air  would  be  cooler  in  the  shade.  In  this  I  was  mis- 
taken. The  clouds  over  our  heads  hung  so  low,  and  the  heat 
was  so  great,  that  I  was  soon  glad  to  retrace  my  steps. 

The  moment  I  turned  round  to  face  the  lake,  I  was  sur 
prised  at  the  change  that  had  taken  place  in  the  appearance 
of  the  heavens.  The  clouds,  that  had  before  lain  so  motion- 
less, were  now  in  rapid  motion,  hurrying  and  chasing  each 
other  round  the  horizon.  It  was  a  strangely  awful  sight. 
Before  I  felt  a  breath  of  the  mighty  blast  that  had  already 
burst  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake,  branches  of  trees,  leaves, 
and  clouds  of  dust  were  whirled  across  the  lake,  whose 
waters  rose  in  long  sharp  furrows,  fringed  with  foam,  as  if 
moved  in  their  depths  by  some  unseen  but  powerful  agent. 

Panting  with  terror,  I  just  reached  the  door  of  the  house  as 
the  hurricane  sw^ept  up  the  hill,  crushing  and  overturning 
every  thing  in  its  course.  Spell-bound,  I  stood  at  the  open 
door,  with  clasped  hands,  unable  to  speak,  rendered  dumb 
and  motionless  by  the  terrible  grandeur  of  the  scene ;  while 
little  Donald,  who  could  not  utter  many  intelligible  words, 
crept  to  my  feet,  appealing  to  me  for  protection,  while  his 
rosy  cheeks  paled  even  to  marble  whiteness.  The  hurrying 
clouds  gave  to  the  heavens  the  appearance  of  a  pointed  dome, 
round  w^liieh  the  lightning  played  in  broad  ribbons  of  Hre, 
The  roaring  of  the  thunder,  the  rushing  of  the  blast,  the  im- 
petuous do\\ai-pouring  of  tin-  ruin,  and  the  crash  of  falling 
trees,  were  perfectly  deafening  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  this  up- 


I»f. 


■m 


^^'^^ 


t. 

%        < 


l&l 


liOUGHIXG  IT  LV  THE  JiLV/l. 


roar  of  the  elements,  old  Jenny  burst  in,  drenched  Mith  weti 
and  half  dead  with  fear. 

"  The  Lord  preserve  us !"  she  cried,  "  this  surely  is  the 
day  of  judgment.  Fifty  trees  fell  across  my  very  path,  be- 
tween  this   an'   the   creek.     Mrs.    C just  reached   her 

brother's  clearing  a  few  minutes  before  a  great  oak  fell  on 
hfi  very  pfith.  What  thunther  ! — what  lightning  !  Misthrcss, 
dear ! — it's  turn'd  so  dark,  I  can  only  jist  see  yer  face." 

Glad  enough  was  I  of  her  presence ;  for  to  be  alone  hi  the 
heart  of  the  great  forest,  in  a  log  hut,  on  such  a  night,  was  not 
a  pleasing  prospect.  People  gain  courage  by  companionship, 
and  m  order  to  reassure  each  other,  struggle  to  conceal  their 
fears. 

"And  where  is  Mr.  E ?" 

"  I  hope  not  on  the  lake.  He  went  early  this  morning  to 
get  the  wheat  ground  at  the  mill." 

"  Och,  the  crathur !  He's  surely  drowned.  What  boat 
could  Stan'  such  a  scrimmage  as  this?" 

I  had  my  fears  for  poor  John ;  but  as  the  chance  that  he 
had  to  wait  at  the  mill  till  others  were  served  was  more  than 
probable,  I  tried  to  still  my  apprehensions  for  his  safety.  The 
storm  soon  passed  over,  after  having  levelled  several  acres  of 
wood  near  the  house,  and  smitten  down  in  its  progress  two 
gigantic  pines  in  the  clearing,  which  must  have  withstood  the 
force  of  a  thousand  winters.  Talking  over  the  effects  of  this 
whirlwind  with  my  brother,  he  kindly  sent  me  the  followang 
very  graphic  description  of  a  whirlwind  which  passed  through 
the  town  of  Guelph  in  the  summer  of  1829. 

*  "  In  my  hunting  excursions  and  rambles  through  the 
Upper  Canadian  forests,  I  had  fre<]uently  met  with  extensive 
wind-falls ;  and  observed  with  some  surprise  that  the  fallen 

*  Written  bv  Mr.  Strickland,  of  Douro. 


THE  WUIKLWIND. 


u% 


trees  lay  strewn  in  a  sucxicssion  of  circles,  and  eviJentl)  ap- 
peared to  have  been  twisted  ofl'the  stumps.  I  also  reinurkeil 
that  these  wind-tails  were  generally  narrow,  and  had  the  •a\> 
pearance  of  a  road  slashed  through  the  forest.  From  obser- 
vations made  at  the  time,  and  since  coufiimed,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  Colonel  Reid's  theory  of  storms  'a  a  correct  one, 
viz.,  that  all  wind-storms  move  in  a  circular  direction,  and 
the  nearer  the  centre  the  more  violent  the  force  of  the  wind. 
Having  seen  the  effects  of  several  similar  hui-ricanes  since  my 
residence  in  Canada  West,  I  slkall  ])roceed  to  describe  one 
which  happened  in  the  township  of  Guelph  during  the  early 
part  of  the  summer  of  1829. 

"The  weather,  for  the  season  of  the  year  (May),  had  been 
hot  and  sultry,  with  scarcely  a  breath  of  wind  stirring.  I 
had  heard  distant  thunder  from  an  early  hour  in  the  morning, 
which,  from  the  eastward,  is  rather  an  unusual  occurrence. 
Abo';,t  iO  A.  M.,  the  sky  had  a  most  singular,  and  I  must  add 
a  most  awful  appearance,  presenting  to  the  view  a  vast  arch 
of  rolling  blackness,  which  seemed  to  gather  strength  and  den- 
sity as  it  approached  the  zenith.  All  at  once  the  clouds  began 
to  work  round  in  circles,  as  if  chasing  one  another  through  the 
air!  Suddenly  the  dark  arch  of  clouds  appeared  to  break  up 
into  detached  masses,  whirling  and  mixing  through  each  other 
in  dreadful  commotion.  The  forked  lightning  was  incessant, 
accompanied  by  heavy  thunder.  In  a  short  time,  the  clouds 
seemed  to  converge  to  a  point,  which  approached  very  near 
the  earth,  still  whirling  with  great  rapidity  directly  under  this 
point ;  and  apparently  from  the  midst  of  the  woods  arose  a 
black  column,  in  the  shape  of  a  cone,  which  instantly  joined 
itself  to  the  depending  cloud.  The  sight  was  now  grand  and  \ 
awful  in  the  extreme.  Picture  to  your  imagination  a  vast 
column  of  smoke,  of  inky  blackness,  reaching  from  earth  to 
heaven,  gyrating  with  fearful  velocity — bright  lightnings  issu- 


liJil 


\ 


106 


ROUGIIINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSK 


ing  from  the  vortex ;  the  roar  of  the  thunder — the  rushhig 
of  the  blast — the  crash  of  timber — the  limbs  of  trees,  leaves, 
and  rubbish,  mingled  with  clouds  of  dust,  whirling  through 
the  air  ; — you  then  liave  a  faint  idea  of  the  scene. 

"  I  had  ample  time  for  observation,  as  the  hurricane  com- 
menced its  devastating  course  about  two  miles  from  the  town, 
through  the  centre  of  which  it  took  its  way,  passing  within 
fifty  yards  of  where  a  number  of  persons,  myself  among  the 
rest,  were  standing,  watching  its  fearful  progress. 

"  As  the  tornado  approached,  the  trees  seemed  to  fall  like 
a  pack  of  cards  before  its  irresistible  current.  After  passii;g 
through  the  clearing  made  around  the  village,  the  force  of  the 
wind  gradually  abated,  and  in  a  few  minutes  died  away  entirely. 

"  As  soon  as  the  storm  was  over,  I  went  to  see  the  damage 
it  had  done.  From  the  point  where  I  first  observed  the  black 
column  to  rise  from  the  woods  and  join  the  clouds,  the  trees 
were  twisted  in  every  dlreciion.  A  belt  of  timber  had  been 
levelled  to  the  ground,  about  two  miles  in  length  and  about 
one  hundred  yards  in  breadth.  At  the  entrance  of  the  town  it 
crossed  the  river  Speed,  and  uprooted  about  six  acres  of  wood, 
which  had  been  thinned  out,  and  left  by  Mr.  Gait  (late  superi.'' 
tendent  of  the  Canada  Company),  as  an  ornament  to  his  house. 

"  The  Eremosu  road  was  completely  blocked  up  for  nearly 
half-a-mile,  in  the  wildest  confusion  possible,  hi  its  progress 
through  the  town  the  storm  unroofed  several  houses,  levelled 
many  fences  to  the  ground,  and  entirely  demolished  a  frame 
barn.  Windows  were  dashed  in ;  and,  in  one  instance,  tlie 
floor  of  a  log  house  was  carried  through  the  roof  Some  hair- 
breadth escapes  occurred ;  but,  luckily,  no  lives  M^ere  lost. 

"  About  twelve  years  since  a  similar  storm  occurred  in 
fehe  north  part  of  the  township  of  Douro,  but  was  of  much  less 
magnitude.  I  heard  an  intelligent  settler,  who  resided  some 
yeai*s  in  the  township  of  Madoc,  state  that,  during  his  res! 


Uhing 
3aves. 
rough 

com- 
Itown, 

itliin 
ig  the 

11  like 


THE   WHIRL  WIND. 


16? 


dencc  ih  that  townsh'p,  a  similar  hurricane  to  the  one  I  have 
described,  though  of  a  much  more  awful  chai-acter,  passed 
through  a  part  of  Marmora  and  Madoc,  and  had  been  traced, 
in  a  north-easterly  direction,  iij)wards  of  forty  miles  into  the 
unsurveyed  lands;  the  uniform  width  of  which  appeared  to  be 
three  quarters  of  a  mile. 

"  It  is  very  evident,  from  the  traces  which  they  have  left 
behind  them,  that  storms  of  this  description  have  not  been  un- 
frequent  in  the  wooded  districts  of  Canada  ;  and  it  becomes  a 
matter  of  interesting  consideration  whether  the  clearing  of  our 
immense  forests  will  not,  in  a  great  measure,  remove  the  cause 
of  these  phenomena." 

A  few  minutes  after  our  household  had  retired  to  rest,  my 

first  sleep  was  broken  by  the  voice  of  J.  E ,  s])eaking  to  old 

Jenny  in  the  kitchen.  He  had  been  overtaken  by  the  storm 
but  had  run  his  canoe  ashore  upon  an  island  before  its  full  fury 
burst,  and  turned  it  over  the  flour ;  while  he  had  to  brave  the 
terrors  of  a  pitiless  tempest — butTeted  by  the  wind,  and 
drenched  with  torrents  of  rain.  I  got  up  and  made  him  a 
cup  of  tea,  while  Jenny  prepared  a  rasher  of  bacon  and  eggs 
for  his  supper. 

Shortly  after  this,  J.  E bade  a  final  adieu  to  Canada, 

A^ith  his  cousin  C.  W .     lie  volunteered  into  the  Scotch 

Greys,  and  we  never  saw  him  more  ;  but  I  have  been  told 
that  he  was  so  highly  respected  by  the  officers  of  the  regiment 
that  they  subscribed  for  his  commission ;  that  he  rose  to  the 
rank  of  lieutenant ;  accompanied  the  regiment  to  India,  and 
was  at  the  taking  of  Cabul;  but  fr:m  himself  we  never  heard 
ngaln. 

The  Ifllh  of  October,  my  third  son  was  born;  and  a  few 
days  after,  my  husband  was  appointed  paymaster  to  the 
militia  regiments  in  the  V.  District,  with  the  rank  and  full 
pay  of  captain. 


1G8 


KOUGiriXQ  IT  IX  THE  JiUSlF. 


I 


This  was  Sir  George  Arthur's  doing.  lie  returned  no  an 
swer  to  my  application,  l)Ut  he  did  not  forget  us.  As  the 
time  that  ]\Ia<jdio  might  retain  this  situation  was  very  doui)V 
ful,  he  thought  it  advisal)le  not  to  remove  me  and  the  family 
until  he  could  secure  some  permanent  situation;  by  so  doing, 
he  would  have  a  better  opportiuiity  of  saving  the  greater  part 
of  his  income  to  pay  off  his  old  debts. 

This  winter  of  1839  was  one  of  severe  trial  to  me. 
Hitherto  I  had  enjoyed  the  blessing  of  health ;  but  both  the 
children  and  myself  were  now  doomed  to  suffer  from  danger- 
ous  attacks  of  illness.  All  the  little  things  had  malignant 
scarlet  fever,  and  for  several  days  I  thought  it  would  please 
the  Almighty  to  take  from  me  my  two  girls.  This  fever  is 
so  fatal  to  children  in  Canada  that  none  of  my  neighbours 
dared  approach  the  house.  For  three  weeks  Jenny  and  I 
were  never  undressed ;  our  whole  time  was  taken  up  in  nurs- 
ing the  five  little  helpless  creatures  through  the  successive 
stages  of  their  alarming  disease.  I  sent  for  Dr.  Taylor ;  but 
he  did  not  come,  and  I  was  obliged  to  trust  to  the  mercy  of 
God,  and  my  own  judgment  and  good  nursing.  Though  I 
escaped  the  fever,  mental  anxiety  and  fatigue  brought  on 
other  illness,  which  for  nearly  ten  weeks  rendered  me  perfect- 
ly helpless.     When  I  was  again  able  to  creep  from  my  sick 

bed,  the  baby  was  seized  with  an  illness,  which  Dr.  B 

pronounced  mortal.  Against  all  hope,  he  recovered,  but 
these  severe  mental  trials  rendered  me  weak  and  nervous, 
and  more  anxious  than  ever  to  be  re-united  to  my  husband. 
To  add  to  these  troubles,  my  sister  and  her  husband  sold 

their  farm,  and  removed  from  our  neighbourhood.     Mr. 

had  returned  to  England,  and  had  obtained  a  situation  in  the 
Customs;  and  his  wife,  my  friend  Emilia,  was  keeping  a 
school  in  the  village  ;  so  that  I  felt  more  solitary  than  ever, 
thus  deprived  of  so  many  kind,  sympathizing  friends. 


^^i 


■wm. 


h'o  an 
ks  the 
[doiiht. 

1  " 

part 


THE   WALK  TO   DJifMEK 


1*39 


CHAPTER    XI. 


THE     WALK     TO     DUMMER. 

READER !  liave  you  ever  heard  of  a  place  situated  lu  the 
forest-depths  of  this  far  western  wilderness,  called  Dum. 
mer  1  Ten  years  ago,  it  might  not  inaptly  have  been  termed 
"  The  last  clearing  in  the  world."  Nor  to  this  day  do  1  know 
of  any  in  that  direction  which  extends  beyond  it.  Our  bush- 
farm  was  situated  on  the  border-line  of  a  neighbouring  town- 
ship,  only  one  degree  less  wild,  less  out  of  the  world,  or 
nearer  to  the  habitations  of  civilization  than  the  far-famed 
"  English  Line,"  the  boast  and  glory  of  this  terra  incognita. 

This  place,  so  named  by  the  emigrants  who  had  pitched 
their  tents  in  that  solitary  wilderness,  was  a  long  line  of 
cleared  land,  extending  upon  either  side  for  some  miles  through 
the  darkest  and  most  interminable  forest.  The  English  Line 
was  inhabited  chjefly  by  Cornish  miners,  ho,  tired  of  burrow- 
ing like  moles  underground,  had  determined  to  emigrate  to 
Canada,  where  they  could  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  heaven, 
and  obtain  the  necessai  ^s  of  life  upon  the  bosom  of  their 
mother  earth.  Strange  as  it  may  appear,  these  m,en  made 
good  farmers,  and  steady,  industrious  colonists,  working  as 
well  above  ground  as  they  had  toiled  in  their  early  days  be^ 
neath  it.  All  our  best  servants  came  from  Dummer ;  and 
although  they  spoke  a  language  difficult  to  be  understood, 
and  were  uncouth  in  their  manners  and  appeiirance,  they  were 
faithful  and  obedient,  performing  the  tasks  assigned  to  them 

VOL.  II.  8 


® 


nS- 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


1.25 


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itt  lii   |Z2 

S  HA   "^ 
S   lis    |20 

■luu 

lU    11.6 


»" 


PhotograiAic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STREfT 

WEBSTIR.N.Y.  14SM 

(716)l7a-4S03 


4^^^ 


•^ 


* 


f 


& 


^ 


170 


ROUGUINO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


with  patient  perseverance ;  good  food  and  kind  treatment 
rendering  them  always  cheerful  and  contented. 

My  dear  old  Jenny,  that  most  faithful  and  attached  of  all 
humble  domestic  friends,  came  from  Dummer,  and  I  was 
wont  to  regard  it  with  comj)lacency  for  her  »ake.  But  Jenny 
was  not  English  ;  she  was  a  generous,  wai'm-hearted  daughter 
of  the  Green  Isle — the  emerald  gem  set  in  the  silver  of 
ocean.  Yes,  Jenny  was  one  of  the  poorest  children  of  that 
impoverished  but  glorious  country  where  wit  and  talent  seem 
indigenous,  springing  up  spontaneously  in  the  rudest  and  most 
uncultivated  minds ;  showing  what  the  land  could  bring  forth 
in  its  own  strength,  unaided  by  education,  and  unfettered  by 
the  conventional  rules  of  society.  Jenny  was  a  striking  in- 
stance of  the  worth,  noble  self-denial,  and  devotion,  which  are 
often  met  with — and,  alas !  but  too  often  disregarded — in  the 
poor  and  ignorant  natives  of  that  deeply-injured  and  much- 
abused  land.  A  few  words  about  my  old  favourite  may  not 
prove  uninteresting  to  my  readers. 

Jenny  Buchanan,  or,  as  she  called  it,  Bohanon,  was  the 
daughter  of  a  petty  exciseman,  of  Scotch  extraction  (hence 
her  industry),  who,  at  the  time  of  her  birth,  resided  near  the 
old  town  of  Inniskillen.  Her  mother  died  a  few  months  after 
she  was  born ;  and  her  father,  within  the  twelve  months,  mar- 
ried agaiii  In  the  mean  while  the  poor  orphan  babe  had  been 
adopted  by  a  kind  neighbour,  the  wife  of  a  small  farmer  in 
the  vicinity. 

In  return  for  coarse  food  and  scanty  clothing,  the  little 
Jenny  became  a  servant  of  all  work.  She  fed  the  pigs,  herded 
the  cattle,  assisted  in  planting  potatoes  and  digging  peat  from 
the  bog,  and  was  undisputed  mistress  of  the  poultry-yard. 
As  she  grew  up  to  womanhood,  the  importance  of  her  labours 
increased.  A  better  reaper  in  the  harvest-field,  or  footer  of 
turf  in  the  bog,  could  not  be  found  in  the  district,  or  a  woman 


T 


THE   WALK  TO  DUMMER. 


171 


morti  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  management  of  cows 
and  the  rearing  of  young  cattle;  but  here  poor  Jenny's  ac- 
complishments terminated. 

Her  usefulness  was  all  abroad.  Within  the  house  she  made 
more  dirt  than  she  had  the  inclination  or  the  abiJity  to  clear 
away.  She  could  neither  read,  nor  knit,  nor  sew;  and  al- 
though she  called  herself  a  Protestant,  and  a  Church  of 
England  woman,  she  knew  no  more  of  religion,  as  revealed  to 
man  through  the  Word  of  God,  than  the  savage  who  sinks 
to  the  grave  in  ignorance  of  a  Redeemer.  Hence  she 
stoutly  resisted  all  idea  of  being  a  sinner,  or  of  standing 
the  least  chance  of  receiving  hereafter  the  condemnation  of 
one. 

"  Och,  shure  thin,"  she  would  say,  with  simple  earnestness 
of  look  and  manner,  almost  irresistible,  "  God  will  never 
throuble  Himsel'  about  a  poor,  hard-working  crathur  like  me, 
who  never  did  any  harm  to  the  manest  of  His  makin'." 

One  thing  was  certain,  that  a  benevolent  Providence  had 
"  throubled  Himsel' "  about  poor  Jenny  in  times  past,  for  the 
warm  heart  of  this  neglected  child  of  Nature  contained  a 
stream  of  the  richest  benevolence,  which,  situated  as  she  had 
been,  could  not  have  been  derived  f^om  any  other  source.  I 
Honest,  faithful,  and  industrious,  Jenny  became  a  law  unto  / 
herself,  and   practically  illustrated   the  golden  rule  of  her! 
blessed  Lord,  "  to  do  unto  others  as  we  would  they  shouldu 
do  unto  us."     She  thought  it  was  impossible  that  her  poor\ 
services  could  ever  repay  the  debt  of  gratitude  that  she  owed 
to  the  family  Vi^ho  had  brought  her  up,  although  the  obligation 
must  have  been  entirely  on  their  side.     To  them  she  was 
greatly  attached — for  them  she  toiled  unceasingly ;  and  when 
evil  days,  came,  and  they  were  not  able  to  meet  the  rent-day, 
or  to  occupy  the  farm,  she  determined  to  accompany  them  in 
their  emigration  to  Canada,  and  formed  one  of  the  stout-hearted 


t^ 


T 


172 


ROUOHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


band  that  fixed  its  location  in  the  lonely  and  unexplored  wilds 
now  known  as  the  township  of  Diiminer. 

During  the  first  year  of  their  settlement,  the  means  of 
obtaining  the  common  necessaries  of  life  became  so  preoa- 
rious,  that,  in  order  to  assist  her  friends  with  a  little  ready 
money,  Jenny  determined  to  hire  out  into  some  wealthy 
house  as  a  servant.  When  I  use  the  term  wealth  as  applied 
to  any  bush-settler,  it  is  of  course  only  comparatively  ;  but 
Jenny  was  anxious  to  obtain  a  place  with  settlers  who  enjoyed 
a  small  income  independent  of  their  forest  means. 

Her  first  speculation  was  a  complete  failure.  For  five 
long,  hopeless  years  she  served  a  master  f  jm  whom  she 
never  received  a  farthing  of  her  stipulated  wages.  Still  her 
attachment  to  the  family  was  so  strong,  and  had  become  so 
much  the  necessity  of  her  life,  that  the  poor  creature  could 
not  make  up  her  mind  to  leave  them.  The  children  whom 
she  had  received  into  her  arms  at  their  birth,  and  whom  she 
had  nursed  with  maternal  tenderness,  were  as  dear  to  her  as 
if  they  had  been  her  own ;  she  continued  to  work  for  them, 
although  her  clothes  were  worn  to  tatters,  and  her  own  friends 
were  too  poor  to  replace  them. 

Her  master,  Captain  N ,  a  handsome,  dashing  officer, 

who  had  served  many  years  in  India,  still  maintained  the  car- 
riage and  appearance  of  a  gentleman,  in  spite  of  his  mental 
and  moral  degradation,  arising  from  a  constant  state  of  intoxi- 
cation ;  he  still  promised  to  remunerate  at  some  future  da} 
her  faithful  services ;  and  although  all  his  neighbours  well 
knew  that  his  means  were  exhausted,  and  that  that  day  would 
never  come,  yet  Jenny,  in  the  simplicity  of  her  faith,  still 
toiled  on,  in  the  hope  that  the  better  day  he  spoke  of  would 
soon  arrive. 

And  now  a  few  words  respecting  this  master,  which  I  trust 
may  serve  as  a  warning  to  others.     Allured  by  the  bait  that 


u 


THE   WALK  TO  DUMMER. 


173 


has  been  the  ruin  of  so  many  of  his  class,  the  offer  of  a  large 
grant  of  land,  Captain  N had  been  induced  to  form  a  set- 
tlement in  this  remote  and  untried  township ;  laying  ou* 
much,  if  not  all,  of  his  available  means  in  building  a  log 
house,  and  clearing  a  large  extent  of  barren  and  stony  land. 
To  this  uninviting  home  he  conveyed  a  beautiful  young  wife, 
and  a  small  and  increasing  family.  The  result  may  be  easily 
anticipated.  The  want  of  society — a  dreadful  want  to  a  man 
of  his  previouc  habits — the  total  absence  of  all  the  comforts 
and  decencies  of  life,  produced  inaction,  apathy,  and  at  last, 
despondency,  which  was  only  alleviated  by  a  constant  and 

immoderate  use  of  ardent  spirits.    As  long  as  Captain  N 

retained  his  half  pay,  he  contrived  to  exist.  In  an  evil  hour 
he  parted  with  this,  and  quickly  trod  the  down-hill  path  to 
ruui. 

And  here  I  would  remark  that  it  Is  always  a  rash  and 
hazardous  step  for  any  officer  to  part  with  his  half  pay ; 
although  it  is  almost  every  day  done,  and  generally  followed 
by  the  same  disastrous  results.  A  certain  income,  however 
small,  in  a  country  where  money  is  so  hard  to  be  procured, 
and  where  labour  cannot  be  attained  but  at  a  very  high  pecu- 
niary remuneration,  is  invaluable  to  a  gentleman  unaccus- 
tomed to  agricultural  employment ;  who,  without  this  reserve 
to  pay  his  people,  during  the  brief  but  expensive  seasons  of 
seed-time  and  harvest,  must  either  work  himself  or  starve.  I 
have  known  no  instance  in  which  such  sale  has  been  attended 
with  ultimate  advantage;  but,  alas!  too  many  in  which  it 
has  terminated  in  the  most  distressing  desiitution.  These 
government  grants  of  land,  to  half-pay  officers,  have  induced 
numbers  of  this  class  to  emigrate  to  che  backwoods  of  Canada, 
who  are  totally  unfit  for  pioneers  ;  but,  tempted  by  the  oifer 
of  finding  themselves  landholders  of  what,  on  paper,  appeal 
to  them  fine  estates,  they  resign  a  certainty,  to  waste  theii 


f 


■\\ 


1 


174 


ROUOHIXG  IT  IX  THE  BUi^H. 


energies,  and  die  lialf-starved  and  broken-hearted  in  the  deptha 
of  the  pitiless  wild. 

If  a  gentleman  so  situated  would  give  up  all  idea  of  settling 
on  his  grant,  but  hire  a  good  farm  in  a  favourable  situation — 
that  is,  not  too  far  from  a  market — and  with  his  half  pay  hire 
efficient  labourers,  of  which  plenty  are  now  to  be  had,  to  cul- 
tivate the  land,  with  common  prudence  and  economy,  he 
would  soon  obtain  a  comfortable  subsistence  for  his  family. 
And  if  the  males  were  brought  up  to  share  the  burden  and 
heat  of  the  day,  the  expense  of  hired  labour,  as  it  yearly 
diminished,  would  add  to  the  general  means  and  well-being 
of  the  whole,  until  the  hired  farm  became  the  real  property 
of  the  industrious  tenants.  But  the  love  of  show,  the  vain 
boast  of  appearing  richer  and  better  dressed  than  our  neigh- 
hours,  too  often  involves  the  emigrant's  family  in  debt,  from 
which  they  are  seldom  able  to  extricate  themselves  without 
"Sacrificing  the  means  which  would  have  secured  their  inde 
pendence. 

This,  although  a  long  digression,  will  not,  I  hope,  be  with- 
out its  use ;  and  if  this  book  is  regarded  not  as  a  work  of 
jtmusement  but  one  of  practical  experience,  written  for  the 
r»enefit  of  others,  it  will  not  fail  to  convey  some  useful  hints 
w)  those  who  have  contemplated  emigration  to  Canada:  the 
t»«8t  country  in  the  world  for  the  industrious  and  well-princi- 
p  ed  man,  who  really  comes  out  to  work,  and  to  better  his 
(>  indition  by  the  labour  of  his  hands  ;  but  a  gulf  of  ruin  to  the 
v-iin  and  idle,  who  only  set  foot  upon  these  shores  to  ac^.ele- 
rnte  their  ruin. 

But  to  return  to  Captain  N .     It  was  at  this  disastrous 

period  that  Jenny  entered  his  service.  Had  her  master 
adapted  his  habits  and  expenditure  to  his  altered  circumstances, 
much  misery  might  have  been  spare(i,  both  to  himself  and  hia 
family.    But  he  was  a  proud  man — too  proud  to  work,  or  to 


I 


THE   WALK  TO  DUMMER. 


176 


Jttling 


leceive  with  kindness  the  offers  of  service  tendered  to  him  by 
his  hcalf-civilized,  but  well-meaning  neighbours. 

"  Hang  him  !"  cried  an  indignant  English  settler  (Captain 

j\ was  an  Irishman),  whose  offer  of  drawing  wood  had 

been  rejected  with  unmerited  contempt.  "  Wait  a  few  years 
and  we  shall  see  whftt  his  pride  will  do  for  him.  I  am  sorry 
for  his  poor  wife  and  children ;  but  for  himself,  I  have  no  pity 
for  him." 

This  man  had  been  uselessly  insulted,  at  the  very  moment 
when  he  was  anxious  to  perform  a  kind  and  benevolent  action ; 
when,  like  a  true  Englishman,  his  heart  was  softened  by 
witnessing  the  sufferings  of  a  young  delicate  female  and  her 
infant  family.  Deeply  affronted  by  the  Captain's  foolish  con- 
duct, he  now  took  a  malignant  pleasure  in  watching  his  arro. 
gant  neighbour's  progress  to  ruin. 

The  year  after  the  sale  of  his  commission.  Captain  N 

found  himself  considerably  in  debt,  "  Never  mind,  Ella,"  he 
said  to  his  anxious  wife ;  "  the  crops  will  pay  all." 

The  crops  were  a  failure  that  year.  Creditors  pressed 
hard ;  the  Captain  had  no  money  to  pay  his  workmen,  and  he 
would  not  work  himself.  Disgusted  with  his  location,  but 
miable  to  change  it  for  a  better  ;  without  friends  of  his  own 
class  (for  he  was  the  only  gentleman  then  resident  in  the  new 
township),  to  relieve  the  monotony  of  his  existence  with  their 
society,  or  to  afford  him  advice  or  assistance  in  his  difficul- 
ties, the  fatal  whiskey -bottle  became  nls  refuge  from  gloomy 
thoughts. 

His  wife,  an  amiable  and  devoted  creature,  well  born,  well 
educated,  and  deserving  of  a  better  lot,  did  all  in  her  power 
to  wean  him  from  the  growing  vice.  But,  alas !  the  plead- 
ings of  an  angel,  in  such  circumstances;  would  have  had  little 
effect  upon  the  mind  of  such  a  man.  lie  loved  her  as  well 
&s  he  could  love  any  thing,  and  he  fancied  t*.iat  he  loved  his 


176 


ROUOHINQ  IT  m  THE  BUSff. 


children,  while  ho  was  daily  reducing  them,  by  his  favourite 
vice,  to  beggary. 

For  awhile,  he  confined  his  excesses  to  his  own  fireside, 
but  this  was  only  for  as  long  a  period  as  the  sale  of  his  stock 
and  land  would  supply  him  with  the  means  of  criminal  indul- 
gence. After  a  time,  all  these  resources  failed,  and  his  large 
grant  of  eight  hundred  acres  of  land  had  been  converted  into 
whiskey,  except  the  one  hundred  acres  on  which  his  house 
and  barn  stood,  embracing  the  small  clearing  from  which  the 
family  derived  their  scanty  supply  of  wheat  and  potatoes.  For 
the  sake  of  peace,  his  wife  gave  up  all  her  ornaments  and 
household  plate,  and  the  best  articles  of  a  once  handsome  and 
ample  wardrobe,  in  the  hope  of  hiding  her  sorrows  from  the 
world,  and  keeping  her  husband  at  home. 

The  pride,  that  had  rendered  him  so  obnoxious  to  his 
humbler  neighbours,  yielded  at  length  to  the  inordinate  craving 
for  drink ;  the  man  who  had  held  himself  so  high  above  his 
honest  and  industrious  fellow-settlers,  could  now  unblushingly 
enter  their  cabins  and  beg  for  a  drop  of  whiskey.  The  feel- 
ing of  shame  once  subdued,  there  was  no  end  to  his  audacious 
mendiciiy.  His  whole  time  was  spent  in  wandering  about 
the  country,  calling  upon  every  new  settler,  in  the  hope  of 
being  asked  to  partake  of  the  coveted  poison.  He  was  even 
known  to  enter  by  the  window  of  an  eminrrant's  cabin,  during 
the  absence  of  the  owner,  and  remain  drinking  in  the  house 
while  a  drop  of  spirits  could  be  found  in  the  cupboard.  When 
driven  forth  by  the  angry  owner  of  the  hut,  he  wandered  on 

to  the  distant  town  of  P ,  and  lived  there  in  a  low  tavern, 

while  his  wife  and  children  were  starving  at  home. 

"  He  is  the  filthiest  beast  in  the  township,"  said  the  afore- 
mentioned  neighbour  to  me ;  "  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  his 
wife  and  children  if  his  worthless  neck  were  broken  in  one  ol* 
his  'i/'unkcn  sprees." 


1^ 


THE  WALK  TC   DUMMER. 


\n 


This  might  be  the  melancholy  fact,  but  it  wj  ^  not  the  lew 
dreadful  on  that  account.  The  h  jsband  of  an  aftectiopate  wife 
— the  father  of  a  lo\ely  family — and  his  death  to  be  a  i  jattei 
of  rejoicing ! — a  blessing,  instead  of  being  ai  aftli  Hion  ! — aL 
agony  not  to  be  thought  upon  without  the  deepest  sorrow. 

It  was  at  this  melancholy  period  of  her  sad  history  that 

Mrs.  N found,  in  Jenny  Buchanan,  a  help  in  her  hour  of 

need.  The  heart  of  the  faithful  creature  bled  for  the  misery 
which  involved  the  wife  of  her  degraded  master,  and  the 
children  she  so  dearly  loved.  Their  want  and  destitution 
called  all  the  sympathies  of  her  ardent  nature  into  active 
operation ;  they  were  long  indebted  to  her  labour  for  every 
morsel  of  food  which  they  consumed.  For  them,  she  sowed, 
she  planted,  she  reaped.  Every  block  of  wood  which  shed  a 
cheering  warmth  around  their  desolate  home  was  cut  from 
the  forest  by  her  own  hands,  and  brought  up  a  steep  hill 
to  the  house  upon  her  back.  For  them,  she  coaxed  the 
ne^hbours,  with  whom  she  was  a  general  favourite,  out  of 
many  a  mess  of  eggs  for  their  especial  benefit ;  while  with 
her  cheerful  songs,  and  hearty,  hopeful  disposition,  she  dis- 
pelled much  of  the  cramping  despair  which  chilled  the  heart 
of  the  unhappy  mother  in  her  deserted  home. 

For  several  years  did  this  great,  poor  woman  keep  the 
w«.lf  from  the  door  of  her  beloved  mistress,  toiling  for  her 
with  the  strength  and  energy  of  a  man.  When  was  man  ever 
90  devoted,  so  devoid  of  all  selfishness,  so  attached  to  employ, 
ers,  yet  poorer  than  herself,  as  this  uneducated  lrishw.yman  1 

A  period  was  at  length  put  to  her  unrequited  services. 
In  a  fit  of  intoxication  her  master  beat  her  severely  with  the 
iron  ramrod  of  his  gun,  anl  turned  her,  with  abusive  Ian- 
guage,  from  his  doors.  Oh,  hard  return  for  all  her  unpaid 
labours  of  love  !  She  forgave  this  outrage  for  the  sake  of  the 
helpless  beings  who  depended  upon  her  care.     He  repeatejj 


1 

I 


k 


% 


VOL.  II. 


8' 


, 


Vi 


! 

''I 


178 


ROUOlimO  IT  IN  THE  BUS II. 


the  injury,  and  the  poor  creature  returned  almost  heart 
broken  to  her  former  home. 

Thinking  thiit  his  spite  would  subside  in  a  few  days,  Jenny 
made  a  third  ellurt  to  enter  his  house  in  her  usual  capacity ; 

but  Mrs.  N told  her,  with  many  tears,  that  her  presence 

would  only  enrage  her  husband,  who  had  threatened  herselt 
with  the  most  cruel  treatment  if  she  allowed  the  faithful  ser 
vant  again  to  enter  the  house.  Thus  ended  her  five  years' 
service  to  this  ungrateful  master.     Such  was  her  reward ! 

I  heard  of  Jenny's  worth  and  kindness  from  the  English- 
man who  had  been  so  grievously  affronted  by  Captain  N , 

and  sent  for  her  to  come  to  me.  She  instantly  accepted  my 
offer,  and  returned  with  my  messenger.  She  had  scarcely  a 
garment  to  cover  her.  I  was  obliged  to  find  her  a  suit  of 
clothes  before  I  could  set  her  to  work.  The  smiles  and  dim. 
pies  of  my  curly-headed,  rosy  little  Donald,  then  a  baby-boy 
of  fifteen  months,  consoled  the  old  woman  for  her  separation 

from  EUie  N ;   and  the  good-will  with  which  all  the 

children  (now  four  in  number)  regarded  the  kind  old  body, 
soon  endeared  to  her  the  new  home  which  Provideroe  had 
assigned  to  her. 

Her  accounts  of  Mrs.  N ,  and  her  family,  soon  deeply 

interested  me  in  her  fate  ;  and  Jenny  never  went  to  visit  her 
friends  in  Dummer  without  an  interchange  of  good  wishes 
passing  between  us. 

The  year  of  the  Canadian  rebellion  came,  and  brought 
wi'ih  it  sorrow  into  many  a  bush  dwelling.  Old  Jenny  and 
I  were  left  alone  with  the  little  children,  in  the  depths  of 
the  dark  forest,  to  help  ourselves  in  the  best  way  we  could. 
Men  could  not  be  procured  in  that  thinly-settled  spot  for 
love  nor  money,  and  I  now  fully  realized  the  extent  of  Jen- 
ny's usefulness.  Daily  she  yoked  the  oxen,  and  brought  down 
fi'om  the  bush  fuel  to  maintain  our  fires,  which  she  felled  and 


T7 


THE   WALK  TO  DUMMER. 


17M 


chopped  up  with  her  own  hands.  She  fed  the  cattle,  and  kept 
ftll  things  snug  about  the  doors ;  not  forgetting  to  load  her 
master'^a  two  guns,  "  in  case,'  as  she  said,  "  the  ribels  should 
attack  us  in  our  retrate." 

The  months  of  November  and  December  of  1838  had  beer 
unnaturally  mild  for  this  iron  climate ;  but  the  opening  of  the 
ensuing  January  brought  a  short  but  severe  spell  of  frost  and 
Enow.  We  felt  very  lonely  in  our  solitary  dwelling,  crouching 
round  the  blazing  fire,  that  scarcely  chased  the  cold  from  our 
miserable  log  tenement,  until  this  dreary  period  was  suddenly 
cheered  by  the  unexpected  presence  of  my  beloved  friend, 
Emilia,  who  came  to  spend  a  week  with  me  in  my  forest 
home. 

She  brought  her  own  baby-boy  with  her,  and  an  ample  sup- 
ply of  buffalo  robes,  not  forgetting  a  treat  of  baker's  bread, 
and  "  sweeties"  for  the  children.  Oh,  dear  Emilia  !  best  and 
kindest  of  women,  though  absent  in  your  native  land,  long, 
long  shall  my  heart  cherish  with  affectionate  gratitude  all  your 
visits  of  love,  and  turn  to  you  as  to  a  sister,  tried,  and  found  4^  • 
most  faithful,  in  the  dark  hour  of  adversity,  and  amidst  the  \  ^  ^ 
almost  total  neglect  of  those  from  whom  nature  claimed  »  ^  ^s^ 
tenderer  and  holier  sympathy.  ^^ 

Great  was  the  joy  of  Jenny  at  this  accession  to  our  family 
party ,  and  after  Mrs.  S was  well  warmed,  and  had  par- 
taken of  tea — the  only  refreshment  we  could  offer  her — we 
began  to  talk  over  the  news  of  the  place. 

"  By  the  by,  Jenny,"  said  she,  turning  to  the  old  servant, 
who  was  undressing  the  little  boy  by  the  fire,  "  have  you  heard 

lately  from  poor  Mrs.  N 1     We  have  been  told  that  she 

and  the  family  are  in  a  dreadful  state  of  destitution.  That 
worthless  man  has  left  them  for  the  States,  and  it  is  supposed 
that  he  has  joined  Mackenzie's  band  of  ruffians  on  Navy 
lslan<l :  but  whether  this  bo  true  or  false,  he  has  dcsojlod  ln'> 


II 


( ,1 


m 


0 


180 


HOUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


\\\ 


wife  und  children,  tnki  ig  his  eldest  son  along  with  hinn  (who 
might  have  V)een  of  some  service  at  home),  and  leaving  them 
without  money  or  food." 

*'  The  good  Lord  !  What  will  become  of  the  crathurs  ?" 
responded  Jenny,  wiping  her  wrinkled  cheek  with  the  back  of 
her  hard,  brown  hand.  "  An*  thin  they  have  not  a  sowl  to 
chop  and  draw  them  firewood  ;  an'  the  weather  so  oncommon 
savaro.  Och  hone  !  what  has  not  that  haste  of  a  man  to  answer 
for?" 

"  I  heard,"  continued  Mrs.  S ,  "  that  they  have  tasted 

no  food  but  potatoes  for  the  last  nine  months,  and  scarcely 
enough  of  them  to  keep  soul  and  body  together ;  that  they 
have  sold  their  last  cow ;  and  the  poor  young  lady  and  hei 
second  brother,  a  lad  of  only  twelve  years  old,  bring  all  th« 
wood  for  'CxM  ^"6  from  the  bush  on  a  hand-sleigh." 

"  Ch,  dear !— oh,  dear !"  sobbed  Jenny  ;  "  an'  I  not  there 
to  hi 'p  them !  An'  poor  Miss  Mary,  the  tinder  thing !  Oh,  'ti? 
Iiarc ,  terribly  hard  for  the  crathurs !  an'  they  not  used  to  th* 
like" 

"  Can  nothing  be  done  for  them  ]"  said  I. 

'•  That  is  what  we  want  to  know,"  returned  Emilia,  "  and 
that  was  one  of  my  reasons  for  coming  up  to  D-43v>Cl 
wanted  to  consult  you  and  Jenny  upon  the  subject.  You 
who  are  an  officer's  wife,  and  I,  who  am  both  an  officer's  wift 
and  daughter,  ought  to  devise  some  plan  of  rescuing  thii 
unfortunate  lady  and  her  family  from  her  present  forlorr 
situation." 

The  tears  sprang  to  my  eyes,  and  I  thought,  in  the  bittei 
aess  of  my  heart,  upon  my  own  galling  poverty,  that  m^ 
pockets  did  not  contain  even  a  single  copper,  and  that  I  ha< 
scarcely  garments  enough  to  shield  me  from  the  inclemencj 
of  the  weather.  By  unflinching  industry,  and  taking  my  par*. 
*n  the  toil  of  the  field,  I  had  bread  for  myself  and  family,  and 


TIIK   WALK  TV  l>iMMi:U. 


IMI 


this  was  more  than  poor  Mrs.  N possi'SHtid ;  but  it  ap 

peared  impossible  for  iiic  to  bo  of  any  assistance  to  the  un- 
happy  sufferer,  and  the  thought  of  my  incapacity  gave  mo 
severe  pain.  It  was  only  in  moments  like  the  present  that  I 
felt  the  curse  of  poverty. 

"  Well,"  continued  my  friend,  "  you  see,  Mrs.  Moodio, 

that  the  ladies  of  P are  all  anxious  to  do  what  they  can 

for  her ;  but  they  first  want  to  learn  if  the  miserable  circum- 
stances in  which  she  is  said  to  bo  placed  are  true.  In  shorty 
my  dear  friend,  they  want  you  and  me  to  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  Dummer,  to  see  the  poor  lady  herself;  and  then  they  will 
he  guided  by  our  report." 

"  Then  let  us  lose  no  time  in  going  upon  our  own  mission 
of  mercy." 

"  Och,  my  dear  heart,  you  will  be  lost  in  the  woods !"  said 
old  Jenny.  "  It  is  nine  long  miles  to  the  first  clearing,  and 
that  through  a  lonely,  blazed  path.  After  you  are  through 
the  beaver-meadow,  there  is  not  a  single  hut  for  you  to  rest 
or  warm  yourselves.  It  is  too  much  for  the  both  of  yees ; 
you  will  be  frozen  to  death  on  the  road." 

"  No  fear,"  said  my  benevolent  friend ;  "  God  will  take 
care  of  us,  Jenny.  It  is  on  His  errand  we  go ;  to  carry  a 
message  of  hope  to  one  about  to  perish." 

"  The  Lord  bless  you  for  a  darllnt,"  cried  the  old  woman, 
devoutly  kissing  the  velvet  cheek  of  the  little  fellow  sleeping 
upon  her  lap.  "  May  your  own  purty  child  never  know  the 
want  and  sorrow  that  is  around  her." 

Emilia  and  I  talked  over  the  Dummer  scheme  until  we 
fell  asleep.    Many  were  the  plans  we  proposed  for  the  imme-  ^s^ 
diate  relief  of  the  unfortunate  fiimily .     Early  the  next  morn- 
ing, my  brother-in-law,  Mr.  T ,  called  upon  my  friend.      , 

The  subject  next  our  heart  was  immediately  introduced,  and  ^ 
ho  "<was  called  into  the  general  council.     His  feelings,  like  o'-    ^ 


i 


I 


I  i 


i\ 


i:n 


NO 

*■  V 


18-i 


noUGmsG  IT  IS  the  busu. 


own,  were  deeply  interested ;  and  he  proposed  that  we  shoulo 
each  provide  something  from  our  own  small  stores  to  satisfy 
the  pressing  wants  of  the  distressed  family ;  while  he  prom- 
ised to  bring  his  cutter  the  next  morning,  and  take  us  through 
the  beaver-meadow,  and  to  the  edge  of  the  great  swamp, 
which  would  shorten  four  miles,  at  least,  of  our  long  and 
hazardous  journey. 

We  joyfully  acceded  to  his  proposal,  and  set  cheerfully  to 
work  to  provide  for  the  morrow.  Jenny  baked  a  batch  of 
her  very  best  bread,  and  boiled  a  large  piece  of  beef;  and 

Mr.  T brought  with  him,  the  next  day,  a  fine  cooked 

ham,  in  a  sack,  into  *he  bottom  of  which  he  stowed  the  beef 
and  loaves,  besides  some  sugar  and  tea,  which  his  own  kind 
wife,  the  author  of  "  The  Backwoods  of  Canada,"  had  sent.  1 
had  some  misgivings  as  to  the  manner  in  which  these  good 
things  could  be  introduced  to  the  poor  lady,  who,  I  had  heard, 
was  reserved  and  proud. 

"  Oh,  Jenny,"  I  said,  "  how  shall  I  be  able  to  ask  her  to 
accept  provisions  from  strangers  ?  I  am  afraid  of  wounding 
her  feelings." 

"  Oh,  darlint,  never  fear  that !  She  is  proud,  I  know ;  but 
'tis  not  a  stiff  pride,  but  jist  enough  to  consale  her  disthress 
from  her  ignoriint  English  neighbours,  who  think  so  manely 
of  poor  folk  like  her  who  were  once  rich.  She  will  be  very 
thankful  to  you  for  your  kindness,  for  she  has  not  experienced 
much  of  it  from  the  Dummer  people  in  her  throuble,  though 
she  may  have  no  wovds  to  tell  you  so.  Say  that  old  Jenny 
sent  the  bread  to  d  iar  wee  Ellie,  'cause  she  knew  she  would 
like  a  loaf  of  Jenny's  bakin'." 

"  But  the  meat." 

"  Och,  the  mate,  is  it  ?  Maybe,  you'll  think  of  some  ex- 
cuse for  the  mate  when  you  get  there." 

"  I  hope  so ;  but  I'm  a  sad  coward  with  strangers,  and  I 


T 


TJIK   WALK  TO   DUMMKH. 


18;^ 


have  lived  so  long  out  of  the  world  that  I  am  at  a  great  loss 
what  to  do.  I  will  try  and  put  a  good  face  on  the  matter. 
Your  name,  Jenny,  will  be  no  small  help  to  me." 

All  was  now  ready.  Kissing  our  little  bairns,  who  en  wd- 
ed  around  us  with  eager  and  inquiring  looks,  and  charging 
Jenny  for  the  hundredth  time  to  take  especial  care  of  them 
during  our  absence,  we  mounted  the  cutter,  and  set  off,  under 
the  care  and  protection  of  Mr.  T ,  who  determined  to  ac- 
company us  on  the  journey. 

It  was  £  black,  cold  day ;  no  sun  visible  in  the  gray,  dark 
sky;  a  keen,  cutting  wind,  and  hard  frost.  We  crouched 
close  to  each  other. 

"Good  heavens,  how  cold  it  is!"  whispered  Emilia. 
"  What  a  day  for  such  a  journey !" 

She  had  scarcely  ceased  speaking,  when  the  cutter  went 
upon  a  stump  which  lay  concealed  under  the  drifted  snow ; 
and  we,  together  with  the  ruins  of  our  conveyance,  were  scat- 
tered around. 

"  A  bud  beginning,"  said  my  brother-in-law,  with  a  rueful 
aspect,  as  he  surveyed  the  wreck  of  the  cutter  from  which  we 
had  promised  ourselves  "o  much  benefit.  "  There  is  no  help 
for  it  but  to  return  home." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  B ;  "  bad  beginnings  make  good 

endings,  you  know.  Let  us  go  on ;  it  will  be  far  better  M^alk- 
ing  than  riding  such  a  dreadful  day.  My  feet  are  half  frozen 
already  with  sitting  still." 


"  But,  my  dear  madam,"  expostulated  Mr.  T- 


(( 


con- 


sider the  distance,  the  road,  the  dark,  dull  day,  and  our  im- 
perfect knowledge  of  the  path.  I  will  get  the  cutter  mended 
to-morrow  ;  and  the  day  after  we  may  be  able  to  proceed." 

"  Delays  are  dangerous,"  said  the  pertinacious  Emilia,  who, 
woman-like,  was  determined  to  have  her  own  way.  "  Now 
or  never.     While  we  wait  for  the  broken  cutter,  the  broken 


1^ 


i 


I 


!'^ 


:jl 


m 


\ 


184 


lioUGllIMi  IT  AV  yy/A"  A'CV//. 


hearted  Mrs.  N may  starve.     We  can  stop  at  Coloi  el 

C 's  and  warm  ourselves,  and  you  can  leave  the  cutter  at 

his  house  until  our  return." 

*'  It  was  upon  your  account  that  I  proposed  the  delay," 

said  the  good  Mr.  T ,  taking  the  sack,  which  was  no  in- 

considerable  weight,  upon  his  shoulder,  and  driving  his  horse 

before  him  into  neighbour  W 's  stable.     "  Where  you 

go,  I  am  ready  to  follow." 

When  we  arrived,  Colonel  C 's  family  were  at  break- 
fast, of  which  they  made  us  partake ;  and  after  vainly  en- 
deavouring to  dissuade  us  from  what  appeared  to  them  our 

Quixotic  expedition,  Mrs.  C added  a  dozen  fine  white  fish 

to  the  contents  of  the  sack,  and  sent  her  youngest  son  to  help 

Mr.  T along  with  his  burthen,  and  to  bear  us  company 

on  our  desolate  road. 

Leaving  the  Colonel's  hospitable  house  on  our  left,  we 
again  plunged  into  the  woods,  and  after  a  few  minutes'  brisk 
walking,  found  ourselves  upon  the  brow  of  a  steep  bank  that 
overlooked  the  beaver-meadow,  containing  within  its  area 
several  hundred  acres. 

There  is  no  scenery  in  the  bush  that  presents  such  a  novel 
appearance  as  those  meadows,  or  openings,  surrounded,  as 
they  invariably  are,  by  dark,  intricate  forests;  their  high, 
rugged  banks  covered  with  the  light,  airy  tamarack  and  silver 
birch.  In  summer  they  look  like  a  lake  of  soft,  rich  verdure, 
hidden  in  the  bosom  of  the  barren  and  howling  waste.  Lakes 
they  certainly  have  been,  from  which  the  waters  have  rece- 
ded, "  ages,  ages  long  ago  ;"  and  still  the  whole  length  of  these 
curious  level  valleys  is  traversed  by  a  stream,  of  no  inconsid 
erable  dimensions. 

The  waters  of  tEe  narrow,  rapid  creek,  which  flowed 
through  the  meadow  we  wer<  about  to  cross,  were  of  spark 
ling  brightness,  and  icy  cold.     The  frost-king  had  no  powei 


THE  WALK  TC  DUMMER. 


185 


to  check  their  swift,  dancing  movements,  or  stop  their  per- 
petual song.  On  they  leaped,  sparkling  and  flashing  beneath 
their  ice-crowned  banks,  rejoicing  as  they  revelled  on  in  their 
lonely  covjse.  In  the  prime  of  the  year,  this  is  a  wild  and 
lovely  spot,  the  grass  is  of  the  richest  green,  and  the  flowers 
of  the  most  gorgeous  dyes.  The  gayest  butterflies  float 
above  them  upon  painted  wings ;  and  the  whip-poor-will 
pours  forth  from  the  neighbouring  woods,  at  close  of  dewy 
eve,  his  strange  but  sadly  plaintive  cry.  Winter  was  now 
upon  the  earth,  and  the  once  green  meadow  looked  like  a 
small  forest  lake  covered  with  snow. 

The  first  step  we  made  into  it  plunged  us  up  to  the  knees 
in  the  snow,  which  was  drifted  to  a  great  height  in  the  open 

space.     Mr.  T and  our  young  friend  C walked  on 

ahead  of  us,  in  order  to  break  a  track  through  the  untrodden 
snow.  We  soon  reached  the  cold  creek ;  but  here  a  new 
difficulty  presented  itself  It  was  too  wide  to  jump  across, 
and  we  could  see  no  other  way  of  passing  to  the  other  side. 

"  There  must  be  some  sort  of  a  bridge  hereabout,"  said 
young  C- 


,  "  or  how  can  the  people  from  Dummer  pass 

constantly  during  the  winter  to  and  fro.  I  will  go  along  the 
bank,  and  halloo  to  you  if  I  find  one." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  gave  the  desired  signal,  and  on  reach- 
ing the  spot,  we  found  a  round,  slippery  log  flung  across  the 
stream  by  way  of  bridge.  With  some  trouble,  and  after 
various  slips,  we  got  safely  on  the  other  side.  To  wet  our 
feet  would  have  been  to  ensure  their  being  frozen  ;  and  as  it 
was,  we  were  not  without  serious  apprehensions  on  that  score. 
After  crossing  the  bleak,  snowy  plain,  we  scrambled  over 
another  brook,  and  entered  the  great  swamp,  which  occupied 
two  miles  of  our  dreary  road. 

It  would  be  vain  to  attempt  giving  any  description  of  this 
tangled  maze  of  closely-ir.terwoven  cedars,  fallen  trees,  and 


If 


i 


J 


186 


HOUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


% 


>\    j. 


If 
6   U 


m  ^--l: 


ll 


1 1 


loose-scattered  masses  of  rock.  It  seemed  the  fitting  abodn 
of  wolves  and  bears,  and  every  other  unclean  beast.  The  fire 
had  run  through  it  during  the  summer,  making  the  confusion 
doubly  confused.  Now  we  stopped,  half  doubled,  to  crawl 
under  fallen  branches  that  hung  over  our  path,  then  again  we 
had  to  clamber  over  prostrate  trees  of  great  bulk,  descending 
from  which  we  plumped  down  into  holes  in  the  snow,  sinking 
mid-leg  into  the  rotten  trunk  of  some  treacherous,  decayed 
pine-tree.  Before  we  were  half  through  the  great  swamp,  we 
began  to  think  ourselves  sad  fools,  and  to  wish  that  we  were 
safe  again  by  our  own  firesides.  But,  then,  a  great  object  was 
in  view, — the  relief  of  a  distressed  fellow-creature,  and  like 
the  "  full  of  hope,  misnamed  forlorn,"  we  determined  to  over- 
come every  difficulty,  and  toil  on. 

It  took  us  an  hour  at  least  to  clear  the  great  swamp,  from 
which  we  emerged  into  a  fine  wood,  composed  chiefly  of 
maple-trees.  The  sun  had,  during  our  immersion  in  the  dark 
shades  of  the  swamp,  burst  through  his  leaden  shroud,  and 
cast  a  cheery  gleam  along  the  rugged  boles  of  the  lofty  trees. 
The  squirrel  and  chissmunk  occasionally  bounded  across 
our  path ;  the  dazzling  snow  which  covered  it  reflected  the 
branches  above  us  in  an  endless  variety  of  dancing  shadows. 

Our  spirits  rose  in  proportion.     Young  C burst  out  sing 

ing,  and  Emilia  and  I  laughed  and  chatted  as  we  bounded 
•\long  our  narrow  road.  On,  on  for  hours,  the  same  intermi- 
nable  forest  stretched  away  to  the  right  and  left,  before  and 
behind  us. 

"  It  is  past  twelve,"  said  my  brother  T ,  thoughtfully ; 

"  if  we  do  not  soon  come  to  a  clearing,  we  may  chance  to 
spend  the  night  in  the  forest. 

"  Oh,  I  am  dying  with  hunger,"  cried  Emilia.  "  Do,  C — — ^ 
give  us  one  or  two  of  the  cakes  your  mother  put  into  the  bag 
for  us  to  eat  upon  the  road." 


i; 


THE   WALK  TO  DUMMER. 


187 


The  ginger-cakes  were  instantly  produced.  But  where 
were  the  teeth  to  be  found  that  could  masticate  them  ?  The 
cakes  were  frozen  as  hard  as  stones ;  this  was  a  great  disap* 
pointment  to  us  tired  and  hungry  wights ;  but  it  only  produced 
a  hearty  laugh.  Over  the  logs  we  went  again ;  for  it  was  a 
perpetual  stepping  up  and  down,  crossing  the  fallen  trees  that 
obstructed  our  path.  At  last  we  came  to  a  spot  where  two 
distinct  blazed  roads  diverged. 


"  What  are  we  to  do  now  V  said  Mr.  T- 


We  stopped,  and  a  general  consultation  was  held,  and 
without  one  dissenting  voice  we  took  the  branch  to  the  right, 
which,  after  pursuing  for  about  half-a-mile,  led  us  to  a  log  hut 
of  the  rudest  description. 

"  Is  this  the  road  to  Dummer  V  we  asked  a  man,  who  was 
chopping  wood  outside  the  fence. 

"  I  guess  you  are  in  Dummer  ?"  was  the  answer. 

My  heart  leaped  for  joy,  for  I  was  dreadfully  fatigued. 

"  Does  this  road  lead  through  the  English  I^ine  1" 

"  That's  another  thing,"  returned  the  woodman.  "  No ; 
you  turned  off  from  the  right  path  when  you  came  up  here." 
We  all  looked  very  blank  at  each  other.  "  You  will  have  to 
go  back,  and  keep  the  other  road,  and  that  will  lead  you 
straight  to  the  English  Line." 

"  How  many  miles  is  it  to  Mrs.  N 's  V 

"  Some  four,  or  thereabouts,"  was  the  cheering  rejoinder . 
"  'Tis  one  of  the  last  clearings  on  the  line.  If  you  are  going 
Dack  to  Douro  to-night,  you  must  look  sharp." 

Sadly  and  dejectedly  we  retraced  our  steps.  There  are 
iQ'w  trifling  failures  more  bitter  in  our  journey  through  life 
than  that  of  a  tired  traveller  mistaking  his  road.  What  effect 
must  that  tremendous  failure  produce  upon  the  human  mind, 
when,  at  the  end  of  life's  unrctraceable  journey,  the  traveller 
finds  that  he  has  fallen  upon  the  wrong  track  through  every 


i 


i* 


?  i 


188 


liOUGIlING  IT  IX  THE  BUS  11. 


\ 


stage,  and  instead  5f  arriving  at  the  land  of  blissful  promise 
sinks  for  ever  into  the  gulf  of  despair ! 

The  distance  we  had  trodden  in  the  wrong  path,  while  led 
on  by  hope  and  anticipation,  now  seemed  to  double  in  length, 
as  with  painful  steps  we  toiled  on  to  reach  the  right  road. 
This  object  c^ce  attained,  soon  led  us  to  the  dwellings  of  men. 

Neat,  comfortable  log  houses,  surrounded  by  well-fenced 
patches  of  clearing,  arose  on  either  side  of  the  forest  road ; 
dogs  flew  out  and  barked  at  us,  and  children  ran  shouting  in- 
doors to  tell  their  respective  owners  that  strangers  were  pass, 
ing  their  gates ;  a  most  unusual  circumstance,  I  should  think, 
in  that  location. 

A  servant  who  had  hired  two  years  with  my  brother-in-law, 
we  knew  must  live  somewhere  in  this  neighbourhood,  at 
whose  fireside  we  hoped  not  only  to  rest  and  warm  ourselves, 
but  to  obtain  something  to  eat.     On  going  up  to  one  of  the 

cabins  to  inquire  for  Hannah  J ,  we  fortunately  happened 

to  light  upon  the  very  person  we  sought.  With  many  excla- 
mations of  surprise,  she  ushered  us  into  her  neat  and  comfort- 
able log  dwelling. 

A  blazing  fire,  composed  of  two  huge  logs,  was  roaring  up 
the  wide  chimney,  and  the  savoury  smell  that  issued  from  a 
large  pot  of  pea-soup  was  very  agreeable  to  our  cold  and 
hungry  stomachs.  But,  alas,  the  refreshment  went  no  further ! 
Hannah  most  politely  begged  us  to  take  seats  by  the  fire,  and 
warm  and  rest  ourselves ;  she  even  knelt  down  and  assisted 
in  rubbing  our  half-frozen  hands ;  but  she  never  once  made 
mention  of  the  hot  soup,  or  of  the  tea,  which  was  drawing  in 
a  tin  tea-pot  upon  the  hearth-stone,  or  of  a  glass  of  whiskey, 
which  would  have  been  thankful'y  accepted  by  our  male 
pilgrims. 

Hannah  was  not  an  Irishwoman,  no,  nor  a  Scotch  lassie,  or 
her  very  first  request  would  have  been  for  u»  to  take  "a 


THE  WALK  TO  DUMMER. 


189 


(( 


a 


pickle  of  soup,"  or  "  a  sup  of  thae  warm  broths."  The  isoup 
was  no  doubt  cooking  for  Hannah's  husband  and  two  neigh, 
hours,  who  were  chopping  for  him  in  the  busL;  and  whose 
want  of  punctuality  she  feelingly  lamented. 

As  we  left  her  cottage,  and  jogged  on,  Emilia  whispered, 
laughing,  "  I  hope  you  are  satisfied  with  your  good  dinner  % 
Was  not  the  pea-soup  excellent  ? — and  that  cup  of  nice  hot 
tea ! — I  never  relished  any  thing  more  in  my  life.  I  think 
we  should  never  pass  that  house  without  giving  Hannah  a  call, 
and  testifying  our  gratitude  for  her  good  cheer." 

Many  times  did  we  stop  to  inquire  the  way  to  Mrs. 

N 's,  before  we  ascended  the  steep,  bleak  hill  upon  which 

her  house  stood.     At  the  door,  Mr.  T deposited  the  sack 

of  provisions,  and  he  and  young  C went  across  the  road 

to  the  house  of  an  English  settler  (who,  fortunately  for  them, 

proved  more  hospitable  than  Hannah  J ),  to  wait  until 

our  errand  was  executed. 

The  house  before  which  Emilia  and  I  were  standing  had 
once  been  a  tolerably  comfortable  log  dwelling.  It  was 
larger  than  such  buildings  generally  are,  and  was  surrounded 
by  dilapidated  barns  and  stables,  which  were  not  cheered  by 
a  solitary  head  of  cattle.  A  black  pine  forest  stretched  away 
to  the  north  of  the  house,  and  terminated  in  a  dismal,  tangled 
cedar  swamp,  the  entrance  to  the  house  not  having  been  con- 
structed to  face  the  road. 

The  spirit  that  had  borne  me  up  during  the  journey  died 
within  me.  I  was  fearful  that  my  visit  would  be  deemed  an 
impertinent  intrusion.  I  knew  not  in  what  manner  to  intro- 
duce myself,  and  my  embarrassment  had  been  greatly  in- 
creased by  Mrs.  S declaring  that  I  must  break  the  ice, 

for  she  had  not  courage  to  go  in.  I  remonstrated,  but  she 
was  firm.  To  hold  any  longer  parley  was  impossible.  We 
were  standing  on  the  top  of  a  bleak  hill,  with  the  thermometer 


i 


i 


fr- 

■m 

i 

1 

i 

;    ''.I 

1 

1 

If.         y.,     ,     llll]; 


«  I ' 


i\ 


.i\ 


I 


190 


UOUOIUNO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


many  degrees  below  zero,  and  exposed  to  the  fiercest  biting 
of  the  bitter,  cutting  blast.  With  a  heavy  sigh,  I  knocked 
slowly  but  decidedly  at  the  crazy  door.  I  saw  the  curly  head 
of  a  boy  glance  for  a  moment  against  the  broken  window. 
There  was  a  stir  within,  but  no  one  answered  our  summons. 
Emilia  was  rubbing  her  hands  together,  and  beating  a  rapid 
tattoo  with  her  feet  upon  the  hard  and  glittering  snow,  to  keep 
them  from  freezing. 

Again  I  appealed  to  the  inhospitable  door,  with  a  vehe- 
mence which  seemed  to  say,  "  We  are  freezing,  good  people ; 
in  mercy  let  us  in !" 

Again  there  was  a  stir,  and  a  whispered  sound  of  voices, 
as  if  in  consultation,  from  within ;  and  after  waiting  a  few 
minutes  longer — which,  cold  as  we  were,  seemed  an  age — 
the  door  was  cautiously  opened  by  a  handsome,  dark-eyed 
lad  of  twelve  years  of  age,  who  was  evidently  the  owner  of 
the  curly  head  that  had  been  sent  to  reconnoitre  us  through 
the  window.  Carefully  closing  the  door  after  him,  he  stepped 
out  upon  the  snow,  and  asked  us  coldly  but  respectfully  what 
we  wanted.  I  told  him  that  we  were  two  ladies,  who  had 
walked  all  the  way  from  Douro  to  see  his  mamma,  and  that 
we  wished  very  much  to  speak  to  her.  The  lad  answered  us, 
with  the  ease  and  courtesy  of  a  gentleman,  that  he  did  not 
know  whether  his  mamma  could  be  seen  by  strangers,  but  he 
would  go  in  and  see.  So  saying  he  abruptly  left  us,  leaving 
behind  him  an  ugly  skeleton  of  a  dog,  who,  after  expressing 
hi?  disapprobation  at  our  presence  in  the  most  disagreeable 
and  unequivocal  manner,  pounced  like  a  famishvjd  wolf  upon 
the  sack  of  good  things  which  lay  at  Emilia's  feet ;  and  (uir 
united  efforts  could  scarcely  keep  him  off. 

"  A  cold,  doubtful  reception,  this !"  said  my  friend,  turning 
her  back  to  the  wind,  and  hiding  her  face  in  her  muff.  ''This 
is  worse  than  Hannah's  liberality,  and  the  long,  wearv  walk.' 


THE  Walk  To  oUMMKR. 


\»\ 


I  thought  .J  toi>,  and  begun  to  apprehend  that  our  walk 
had  been  in  vahi,  when  the  lad  again  appeared,  and  said  that 
we  might  walk  ir,  for  his  mother  was  dressed. 

Emilia,  true  to  her  determination,  went  no  farther  than 
the  passage.  In  vain  were  all  Tny  entreating  looks  and  mute 
appeals  to  her  benevolence  and  friendship;  I  was  forced 
to  enter  alone  the  apartment  that  contained  the  distressed 
family. 

I  felt  that  I  was  treading  upon  sacred  ground,  for  a  pitying 
angel  hovers  over  the  abode  of  suffering  virtue,  and  hallows 
all  its  woes.  On  a  rude  bench,  before  the  fire,  sat  a  lady, 
between  thirty  and  forty  years  of  age,  dressed  in  a  thin, 
coloured  muslin  gown,  the  most  inappropriate  garment  for 
the  rigour  of  the  season,  but,  in  all  probability,  the  only 
decent  one  that  she  retained.  A  subdued  melancholy  looked 
forth  from  her  large,  dark,  pensive  eyes.  She  appeared  like 
one  who,  having  discovered  the  full  extent  of  her  misery,  had 
proudly  steeled  her  heart  to  bear  it.  Her  countenance  was 
very  pleasing,  and,  in  early  life  (but  she  was  still  young),  she 
must  have  been  eminently  handsome.  Near  her,  with  her 
head  bent  down,  and  shaded  by  her  thin,  slender  hand,  her 
slight  figure  scarcely  covered  by  her  scanty  clothing,  sat  her 
eldest  daughter,  a  gentle,  sweet-looking  girl,  who  held  in  her 
arms  a  baby  brother,  ^^huse  destitution  she  endeavoured  to 
conceal.  It  was  a  touching  sight ;  that  suffering  girl,  just 
stepping  into  womanhood,  hiding  against  her  young  bosom 
the  nakedness  of  the  little  creature  she  loved.  Another  fine 
boy,  whose  neatlypatched  clothes  had  not  one  piece  of  the 
original  stuff  apparently  left  in  them,  stood  behind  his  mother, 
with  dark,  glistening  eyes  fastened  upon  me,  as  \f  amused, 
and  wondering  who  I  was,  and  what  business  I  could  have 
^here.  A  pale  and  attenuated,  but  very  protty,  delicately 
featured  iittle  girl  was  scnfe<l  on  a  low  stool  b-pfore  the  fire 


\ 


I 


I.; 


192 


liOlj'GHlNO  IT  IN  WE  lii'Sll. 


This  was  old  Jenny's  darling,  EUio,  or  Eloise.  A  rude  bod 
stead,  of  home  manufacture,  'n  a  comer  of  the  room,  covered 
with  a  coarse  woollen  quilt,  contained  tv/o  little  boys,  who 
had  crept  into  it  to  conceal  their  wants  from  the  eyes  of  the 
stranger.  On  /  3  table  lay  a  dozen  peeled  potatoes,  and  a 
small  pot  was  I  wiling  on  the  fire,  to  receive  this  their  scanty 
and  only  daily  meal.  There  was  such  an  air  of  patient  and 
enduring  suffering  in  the  whole  group,  that,  as  I  gazed  heart- 
stricken  upon  it,  my  fortitude  quite  gave  way,  and  I  burst  into 
tears. 

Mi's.  N first  broke  the  painful  silence,  and,  rather 

proudly,  asked  me  to  whom  she  had  the  pleasure  of  speaking. 
I  made  a  desperate  effort  to  regain  my  composure,  and  told 
her,  but  with  much  embar-assment,  my  name  ;  adding  that  I 
was  so  well  acquainted  with  her  and  her  children,  through 
Jenny,  that  I  could  not  consider  her  as  a  stranger ;  that  I 
hoped  that,  as  I  was  the  wife  of  an  officer,  and,  like  her,  a 
resident  in  the  bush,  and  well  acquauited  with  all  its  trials  and 
privations,  she  would  look  upon  me  as  a  friend. 

She  seemed  surprised  and  annoyed,  and  I  found  no  small 
difficulty  in  introducing  the  object  of  my  visit ;  but  the  day 
was  rapidly  declining,  and  I  knew  that  not  a  moment  was  to 
be  lost.  At  first  she  coldly  rejected  all  offers  of  service,  and 
said  that  she  was  contented,  and  wanted  for  nothing. 

I  appealed  to  the  situation  in  which  I  beheld  herself  and 
her  children,  and  implored  her,  for  their  sakes,  not  to  refuse 
help  from  friends  who  felt  for  her  distress.  Her  maternal 
feelings  triumphed  over  her  assumed  indifference,  and  when 
she  sa  .v  me  weeping,  for  I  could  no  longer  restrain  my  tears, 
her  pride  yielded,  and  for  some  minutes  not  a  word  was 
spoken.  I  heard  the  large  tears,  as  they  slowly  fell  from  her 
daughter's  eyes,  drop  one  by  one  upon  her  garments. 

At  last  the  poor  girl  sobbed  out,  "  Dear  mamma,  why  con- 


THK   WALK  TO  DUMMER. 


19a 


♦  eal  the  truth  1  You  know  thai  we  arc  nearly  nuked,  ami 
starving." 

Then  came  the  sad  tale  of  domestic  woes : — the  absence 
of  the  husband  and  eldest  son ;  the  uncertainty  as  to  whora 
they  were,  or  m  what  engaged ;  the  utter  want  of  means  to 
procure  the  common  necessaries  of  life  ;  the  sale  of  the  only 
remaining  cow  that  used  to  provide  the  children  with  food. 
It  had  been  sold  for  twelve  dollars,  part  to  be  paid  in  cash, 
part  in  potatoes ;  the  potatoes  were  nearly  exhausted,  and 
they  were  allowanced  to  so  many  a  day.  But  the  six  dollars 
she  had  retained  as  their  last  resource.     Alas  !  she  had  sent 

the  eldest  boy  the  day  before  to  P ,  to  get  a  letter  out 

of  the  post-office,  which  she  hoped  contained  some  tidings  of 
her  husband  and  son.  She  was  all  anxiety  and  expectation 
— but  the  child  returned  late  at  night  without  the  letter  which 
they  had  longed  for  with  such  feverish  impatience.  The  six 
dollars  upon  which  they  had  depended  for  a  supply  of  food 
were  in  notes  of  the  Farmer's  Bank,  which  at  that  time  would 
not  pass  for  money,  and  which  the  roguish  purchaser  of  the 
cow  had  passed  off  upon  this  distressed  family. 

Oh !  imagine,  ye  who  revel  in  riches — who  can  daily  throw 
away  a  large  sum  upon  the  merest  toy — the  cruel  disappoint- 
ment, the  bitter  agony  of  this  poor  mother's  heart,  when  she 
received  this  calamitous  news,  in  the  midst  of  her  starving 
children.  For  the  last  nine  weeks  they  had  lived  upon  a 
scanty  supply  of  potatoes ; — they  had  not  tasted  raised  bread 
or  animal  food  for  eighteen  months. 

"  Ellie,"  said  I,  anxious  to  introduce  the  sack,  which  had 
lain  like  a  nightmare  upon  my  mind,  "  I  have  something  for 
you ;  Jenny  baked  some  loaves  last  night,  and  sent  them  to 
you  with  her  best  love." 

The  eyes  of  all  the  children  grew  bright.  "  You  will  find 
the  sack  with  the  bread  in  the  passage,"  said  I  to  one  of  the 
VOL.  II.  9 


liM 


Hovainso  IT  IS  tiik  bush. 


hoyn.  Tie  rushed  joyfully  out,  j»ml  returned  with  Mrs.  — - 
uiid  the  Huel:.  Her  hlund  and  afFeetionutc  greeting  reHturud 
us  all  to  tranquillity. 

The  d(5lighte,d  })oy  opened  the  sack.  The  first  thing  he 
produced  was  the  ham. 

"  Oh,"  said  I,  "  that  is  a  ham  that  my  sister  sent  to  Mrs. 

N ;  'tis  of  her  own  curing,  and  she  thought  that  it  might 

be  acceptable." 

Then  came  the  white  fish,  nicely  packed  in  a  clean  cloth. 

"  Mrs.  C thought  fish  might  be  a  treat  to  Mrs.  N , 

as  she  lived  so  fiir  from  the  great  lakes."  Then  came  Jenny's 
bread,  which  had  already  been  introduced.  Tlie  beef,  and 
tea,  and  sugar,  fell  upon  the  floor  without  any  comment. 
The  first  scruples  had  been  overcome,  and  the  day  was  ours. 

"  And  now,  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  N ,  w  ith  true  hospitality, 

"  since  you  have  brought  refreshments  with  you,  permit  me 
to  cook  something  for  your  dinner." 

The  scene  1  had  just  witnessed  had  produced  such  a  cho- 
king sensation  that  all  my  hunger  had  vanished.     Before  we 

could  accept  or  refuse  Mrs.  N 's  kind  offer,  Mr.  T 

arrived,  to  hurry  us  off. 
^^^  It  was  two  o'clock  when  we  descended  the  hill  in  front  of 
the  house,  that  Jed  by  a  side-path  round  to  the  road,  and  com- 
menced our  h(»meward  route.  I  thought  the  four  miles  of 
clearings  would  never  be  passed  ;  and  the  English  Line 
appeared  to  li«ve  no  end.  At  length  we  entered  once  more 
the  dark  fortsst. 

The  settiXig  sun  gleamed  along  the  ground  ;  the  necessity 
of  exertinj?  our  utmost  speed,  and  getting  through  the  great 
swamp  bt^fore  darkness  surrounded  us,  was  apparent  to  all. 
The  me«  strode  vigorously  forward,  for  they  had  been  re« 
frfcshpd  T'ith  a  substantial  dinner  of  potatoes  and  pork,  washed 
d'-  vn  rith  a  glass  of  whiskey,  at  the  cottage  in  which  thej 


n  imf 


Tllk  WALK  To  hUMMKH. 


195 


had  waited  fur  ns ;  but  poor  Emilia  and  I,  taint,  hungry,  and 
foot-soro,  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  wo  could  keep  up. 
I  thought  of  Rosalind,  as  our  march  up  and  down  the  fallen 
logs  recommenced,  and  oflen  exclaiihed  with  her,  "  Oh, 
Jupiter !  how  weary  arc  my  legs  !" 

Night  closed  in  just  as  wo  reached  the  beaver-meadow. 
Hero  our  ears  were  greeted  with  the  sound  of  well-known 

voices.     James  and  Henry  C had  brought  the  ox-sleigh 

to  meet  us  at  the  edge  of  the  bush.  Never  was  splendid 
equipage  greeted  with  such  delight.  Emilia  and  I,  now  fairly 
exhausted  with  fatigue,  scrambled  into  it,  and  lying  down  on 
the  straw  which  covered  the  bottom  of  the  rude  vehicle,  we 
drew  the  buffalo  robes  over  our  faces,  and  actually  slept 
soundly  until  we  reached  Colonel  C 's  hospitable  door. 

An  excellent  supper  of  hot  fish  and  fried  venison  was 
smoking  on  the  table,  with  other  good  cheer,  to  which  we  did 
ample  justice.  1,  for  one,  was  never  so  hungry  in  my  life. 
^  We  had  fasted  for  twelve  hours,  and  that  on  an  intensely  cold 
^  day,  and  had  walked  during  that  period  upwards  of  twenty 
miles.  Never,  never  shall  I  forget  that  weary  walk  to  Dum 
mer ;  but  a  blessing  followed  it. 

It  was  midnight  when  Emilia  and  I  reached  my  humble 
home  ;  our  good  friends  the  oxen  being  again  put  in  requisL 
tion  to  carry  us  there.  Emilia  went  immediately  to  bed, 
from  which  she  was  unable  to  rise  for  several  days.  In  the 
mean  while  I  wrote  to  Moodie  an  account  of  the  scene  I  had 
witnessed,  ai.d  he  raised  a  subscription  among  the  officers  of 
the  regiment  for  the  poor  lady  and  her  children,  which 
amounted  to  forty  dollars.     Emilia  lost  no  time  in  making 

a  ftill  report  to  her  friends  at  P ;  and  before  a  week 

passed  aw^ay,  Mrs.  N and  her  family   were   removed 

thither  by  several  benevolent  individuals  in  the  place.     A 
neat  cottage  was  hired  for  her ;  and,  to  the  honour  of  Canada 


^ 


196 


HOUGIIING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


be  it  spoken,  all  who  could  afford  a  donation  gave  cheerfully. 
Farmers  left  at  her  door,  pork,  beef,  flour,  and  potatoes ;  the 
storekeepers  sent  groceries,  and  goods  to  make  clothes  for  the 
children  ;  the  shoemakers  contributed  boots  for  the  boys ; 
while  the  ladies  did  all  in  their  power  to  assist  and  comfort 
the  gentle  creature  thus  thrown  by  Providence  upon  their 
bounty. 

While  Mrs.  N remained  at  P she  did  not  want  for 

any  comfort.  Her  children  were  clothed  and  her  rent  paid  by 
her  benevolent  friends,  and  her  house  supplied  with  food  and 
many  comforts  from  the  same  source.  Respected  and  beloved 
by  all  who  knew  her,  it  would  have  been  well  had  she  never 
left  the  quiet  asylum  where,  for  several  years,  she  enjoyed 
tranquillity,  and  a  respectable  competence  from  her  school ; 
but  in  an  evil  hour  she  followed  her  worthless  husband  to  the 
Southern  States,  and  again  suffered  all  the  woes  which  drunk, 
enness  inflicts  upon  the  wives  and  children  cf  its  degraded 
victims. 


<  ^ 


S   C.HANaK  W  OUR   i'ROSFKCTS. 


197 


onArTjca  xn. 


A     CHANGE    IN     OUR    PROSPEOTfl. 


DURING  my  illness,  a  kind  neighbour,  who  had  not  only 
frequently  come  to  see  me,  but  had  brought  me  many 
nourishing  things,  made  by  her  own  fair  hands,  took  a  great 
fancy  to  my  second  daughter,  who,  lively  and  volatile,  could 
not  be  induced  to  remain  quiet  in  the  sick  chamber.  The 
noise  shs  made  greatly  retarded  my  recovery,  and  Mrs. 
II took  her  home  with  her,  as  the  only  means  of  obtain- 
ing for  me  necessary  rest.  During  that  winter,  and  through 
the  ensuing  summer,  I  only  received  occasional  visits  from 
my  little  girl,  who,  fairly  established  with  her  new  friends, 
looked  upon  their  house  as  her  home. 

This  separation,  which  was  felt  as  a  great  benefit  at  the 
time,  greatly  estranged  the  affections  of  the  child  from  her 
own  people.  She  saw  us  so  seldom  that  she  almost  regarded 
us,  when  she  did  meet,  as  strangers ;  and  I  often  deeply 
lamented  the  hour  when  I  had  unwittingly  suffered  the  three- 
fold cord  of  domestic  love  to  be  unravelled  by  absence,  and 
the  flattering  attentions  which  fed  the  vanity  of  a  beautiful 
child,  without  strengthening  her  moral  character.  Mrs. 
II ,  whose  husband  was  wealthy,  was  h  generous,  warm- 
hearted girl  of  eighteen.  Lovely  in  person,  and  fascinatmg 
in  manners,  and  still  too  young  to  have  any  idea  of  forming 
the  character  of  a  child,  she  dressed  the  little  creature  expen- 
sively ;  and,  by  constantly  praising  her  personal  appearance, 


i 


11  I  i 


H)8 


ROUGHmO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


gave  her  an  idea  of  her  own  importance  which  it  took  many 
years  to  eradicate. 

It  is  a  great  error  to  suflfcr  a  child,  who  has  been  trained  in 
the  hard  school  of  poverty  and  self-denial,  to  be  transplanted 
suddenly  into  the  hot-bed  of  wealth  and  luxury.  The  idea  of 
the  child  being  so  much  happier  and  better  off  blinds  her  fond 
parents  to  the  dangers  of  her  new  situation,  where  she  is  sure 
to  contract  a  dislike  to  all  useful  occupation,  and  to  look  upon 
scanty  means  and  plain  clothing  as  a  disgrace.  If  the  reaction 
is  bad  for  a  grown-up  person,  it  is  almost  destructive  to  a  child 
who  is  incapable  of  moral  reflection.  Whenever  I  saw  little 
i^  Vjie,  and  remarked  the  growing  coldness  of  her  manner 
towards  us,  my  heart  reproached  me  for  having  exposed  her 
to  temptation. 

Still,  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  she  was  much  better  situated 
than  she  could  possibly  be  with  us.  The  heart  of  the  parent 
could  alone  understand  the  change. 

So  sensible  was  her  father  of  this  alteration,  that  the  first 
time  he  paid  us  a  visit  he  went  and  brought  home  his  child. 

"  If  she  remain  so  long  away  from  us,  at  her  tender 
years,"  he  said,  "  she  will  cease  to  love  us.  All  the  wealth 
in  the  world  would  not  compensate  me  for  the  love  of  my 
child." 

The  removal  of  my  sister  rendered  my  separation  from 
my  husband  doubly  lonely  and  irksome.  Sometimes  the 
desire  to  see  and  tonverse  with  him  would  press  so  painfully 
on  my  heart  that  I  would  get  up  in  the  night,  strike  a  light, 
and  sit  down  and  write  him  a  long  letter,  and  tell  him  all  that 
was  in  my  mind ;  and  when  I  had  thus  unburdened  my  spirit, 
the  letter  was  committed  to  the  flames,  and  after  fervently 
commending  him  to  the  care  of  the  Great  Father  of  mankind, 
I  would  lay  down  my  throbbing  head  on  my  pillow  besido 
our  first-born  son,  and  sleep  tranquilly. 


I 


A   CHANGE  IN  OUR  PROSPECTS. 


199 


)k  many 

'ained  in 
splanted 
!  idea  ot" 
her  fond 
e  is  sure 
ok  upon 
reaction 
0  a  child 
aw  little 
manner 
)sed  her 

situated 
parent 

the  first 
child, 
tender 
!  wealth 
^  of  my 

•n  from 
fies  the 
ainfuDy 
a  light, 
all  that 
i  spirit, 
rvently 
ankind, 
besida 


I 


H: 


It  is  a  strange  fact  that  many  of  my  husband's  letters  to 
nie  were  written  at  the  very  time  when  I  felt  those  irresistible 
impulses  to  hold  communioii  with  him.  Why  should  \ve  be 
ashamed  to  admit  openly  our  belief  in  this  mysterious  inter- 
course between  the  spirits  of  those  who  are  bound  to  each 
other  by  the  tender  ties  of  friendship  and  affection,  when  the 
experience  of  every  day  proves  its  truth  1  Proverbs,  which 
are  the  wisdom  of  ages  collected  into  a  few  brief  words,  tell 
us  in  one  pithy  sentence  that  "  if  we  talk  of  the  devil  he  is 
sure  to  appear."  While  the  name  of  a  long-absent  friend  is 
in  our  mouth,  the  next  moment  brings  him  into  our  presence. 
How  can  this  be,  if  mind  did  not  meet  mind,  and  the  spirit 
had  not  a  prophetic  consciousness  of  the  vicinity  of  another 
spirit,  kindred  with  its  own  1  This  is  an  occr.rrence  so  co: '■• 
mon  that  I  never  met  with  any  person  to  whom  it  had  net 
happened  ;  few  will  admit  it  to  be  a  spiritual  agency,  but  m 
no  other  way  can  they  satisfactorily  explain  its  cause.  If  \t 
were  a  mere  coincidence,  or  combination  of  ordinary  circum- 
stances, it  would  not  happen  so  often,  and  people  would  not 
be  led  to  speak  of  the  long  absent  always  at  the  monient 
when  they  arc  just  about  to  present  themselves  before  them. 
My  husband  was  no  believer  in  what  he  termed  my  fancituJ. 
speculative  theories  ;  yet  at  the  time  when  his  youngest  boy 
and  myself  lay  dangerously  ill,  and  hardly  expected  to  live,  I 
received  from  him  a  letter,  written  in  great  haste,  which  com- 
menced with  this  sentence  :  "  Do  write  to  me.  dear  S , 

when  you  receive  this.  I  have  felt  very  uneasy  about  you 
for  some  days  past,  and  am  afraid  that  all  is  not  right  at 
home." 

Whence  came  this  sudden  fear  1  Why  at  that  particular 
time  did  his  thoughts  turn  so  despondingly  towards  those  st) 
dear  to  him  ?  Why  did  the  dark  cloud  in  his  mind  hang  s() 
heavily  above  his  home  ?     The  burden  of  my  weary  and  dis 


1/ 


I 


1 

i 


200 


ROUQIIINO  IT  IN  THE  BU^SII. 


m 


I 


^'      1.- 


tressed  spirit  had  reached  him ;  and  without  knowing  o^  our 
sufferings  and  danger,  his  own  responded  to  the  call. 

The  holy  and  mysterious  nature  of  man  is  yet  hidden  from 
himself;  he  is  still  a  stranger  to  the  movements  of  that  inner 
life,  and  knows  little  of  its  capabilities  and  powers.  A  purer 
religion,  a  higher  standard  of  moral  ind  intellectual  training, 
may  in  time  reveal  all  this.  Man  still  remains  a  half-re- 
claimed  savage ;  the  leaven  of  Christianity  is  slowly  and  sur-^-iy 
working  its  way,  but  it  has  not  yet  changed  the  whole  lump, 
or  transformed  the  deformed  into  the  beauteous  child  of  God. 
Oh,  for  that  glorious  day !  It  is  coming.  The  dark  clouds 
of  humanity  are  already  tinged  with  the  golden  radiance  of  the 
dawn,  but  the  sun  of  righteousn oss  has  not  yet  arisen  upon  the 
world  with  healing  on  his  wings ;  the  light  of  truth  still  strug- 
gles in  the  womb  of  darkness,  and  man  stumbles  on  to  the 
fulfilment  of  his  sublime  and  mysterious  destiny. 

This  spring  I  was  not  a  little  puzzled  how  to  get  in  the 
crops.  I  still  continued  so  weak  that  I  was  quite  unable  to 
assist  in  the  field,  and  my  good  old  Jenny  was  sorely  troubled 
with  inflamed  feet,  which  required  constant  care.  At  this 
juncture,  a  neighbouring  settler,  who  had  recently  come 
among  us,  offered  to  put  in  my  small  crop  of  peas,  potatoes, 
and  oats,  in  all  not  comprising  more  than  eight  acres,  if  I 
would  lend  him  my  oxen  to  log-up  a  large  fallow  of  ten  acres, 
and  put  in  his  own  crops.  Trusting  to  his  fair  dealing,  I  con- 
sented to  this  arrangement ;  but  he  took  advantage  of  my 
Isolated  position,  and  not  only  logged-up  his  fallow,  but  put  in 
all  his  spring  crops  before  he  sowed  an  acre  of  mine.  The 
oxer  were  worked  down  so  low  that  they  were  almost  unfit 
for  use,  and  my  crops  were  put  in  so  late,  and  with  such  little 
care,  that  they  all  proved  a  failure.  I  should  have  felt  this 
loss  more  severely  had  it  happened  in  any  previous  year, 
but  I  had  ceased  to  feci  that  deep  interest  in  the  affliirs  of  the 


'I 


A   OHANGK  IX  OUR  PHOSPEOTS. 


301 


ig  o^  our 


3en  from 
hat  inner 
A  purer 
training, 
ha!f-re- 
id  surniy 
>le  lump, 
of  God. 
k  clouds 
ce  of  the 
upon  the 
11  Strug, 
n  to  the 

t  in  the 
lable  to 
troubled 
At  this 
y  come 
lotatoes, 
res,  if  I 
n  acres. 

M 

J,  I  con- 
5  of  mv 
t  put  in 
3.  The 
St  unfit 
3h  little 
bit  this 
s  year, 
5  of  th<j 


o 


<arm,  from  a  sort  of  conviction  in  my  own  mind  that  it  would 
not  long  remain  my  home. 

Jenny  and  I  did  our  best  in  the  way  of  hoeing  and  weed- 
ing ;  but  no  industry  on  our  part  could  repair  the  injury  done 
to  the  seed  by  being  sown  out  of  season. 

We  therefore  confined  our  attention  to  the  garden,  which, 
as  usual,  was  very  productive,  and  with  milit,  fresh  butter, 
and  eggs,  supplied  the  simple  wants  of  our  family.  Emilia 
enlivened  our  solitude  by  her  company,  for  several  weeks 
during  the  summer,  and  we  had  many  pleasant  excursions  on 
the  water  together. 

My  knowledge  of  the  use  of  the  paddle,  however,  was  not 
entirely  without  its  danger. 

One  very  windy   Sunday  afternoon,  a  servant-girl,  who 

lived  with  my  friend  Mrs.  C ,  came  crying  to  the  house, 

and  implored  the  use  of  my  canoe  and  paddles,  to  cross  the 
lake  to  see  her  dying  father.  The  request  was  instantly 
granted ;  but  there  was  no  man  upon  the  place  to  ferry  her 
across,  and  she  could  not  manage  the  boat  herself — in  short, 
had  never  been  in  a  canoe  in  her  life. 

The  girl  was  deeply  distressed.  She  said  that  she  had  got 
word  that  her  father  could  scarcely  live  till  she  could  reach 
Smith-town ;  that  if  she  went  round  by  the  bridge,  she  must 
walk  five  miles,  while  if  she  crossed  the  lake  she  could  be 
home  in  half-rtu-hour. 

I  did  not  much  like  the  angry  swell  upon  the  water,  but 
the  poor  creature  was  in  such  grief  that  I  told  her,  if  she  was 
not  afraid  of  venturing  with  me,  I  would  try  and  put  her 
over. 

She  expressed  her  thanks  in  the  warmest  terms,  accom- 
panied by  a  shower  of  blessings ;  and  I  took  the  paddles  and 
went  down  to  the  landing.  Jenny  was  very  averse  to  my 
tempting  Providence^  as  she  termed  it,  and  wished  that  I  might 

VOL.  IT.  9* 


I 


I! 


■! 


?;•■, 


lid 


202 


HOUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


get  back  as  safe  as  I  went.  However,  the  old  woman  launched 
the  canoe  for  me,  pushed  us  from  the  shore,  and  away  we 
went.  The  wind  was  in  my  favour,  and  I  found  so  little 
trouble  in  getting  across  that  I  began  to  laugh  at  my  own 
timidity.  I  put  tne  girl  on  shore,  and  endeavoured  to  shape 
my  passage  home.  But  this  I  found  was  no  easy  task.  The 
water  was  rough,  and  the  wind  high,  and  the  strong  current, 
which  runs  through  that  part  of  the  lake  to  the  Smith  rapids, 
was  dead  against  me.  In  vain  I  laboured  to  cross  this  current ; 
it  resisted  all  my  efforts,  and  at  each  repulse  I  was  carried 
further  down  towards  the  rapids,  which  were  full  of  sunken 
rocks,  and  hard  for  the  strong  arm  of  a  man  to  stem — ^to  the 
weak  hand  of  a  woman  their  safe  passage  was  impossible.  I 
began  to  feel  rather  uneasy  at  the  awkward  situation  in  which 
I  found  myself  placed,  and  for  some  time  I  made  desperate 
efforts  to  extricate  myself,  by  paddling  with  all  my  might. 
I  soon  gave  this  up,  and  contented  myself  by  steering  the 
canoe  in  the  path  it  thought  fit  to  pursue.  After  drifting 
down  with  the  current  for  some  little  space,  until  I  came  op- 
posite a  small  island,  I  put  out  all  my  strength  to  gain  the 
land,  hi  this  I  fortunately  succeeded,  and  getting  on  shore,  I 
contrived  to  drag  the  canoe  so  far  round  the  headland  that  I 
got  her  out  of  the  current.  All  now  was  smooth  sailing,  and 
I  joyfully  answered  old  Jenny's  yells  from  the  landing,  that  I 
was  safe,  and  would  join  her  in  a  few  minutes. 

This  fortunate  manoeuvre  stood  me  in  good  stead  upon 
another  occasion,  when  crossing  the  lake,  some  weeks  after 
this,  in  company  with  a  young  female  friend,  during  a  sudden 
storm. 

Two  Indian  women,  heavily  laden  with  their  packs  of  dried 
venison,  called  at  the  house  to  borrow  the  canoe,  to  join  their 
encampment  upon  the  other  side.  It  so  happened  that  I 
wanted  to  send  to  the  mill  that  afternoon,  and  the  boat  could 


i 


^MUeHMMMMM 


A   CHANGE  IN  OUR  PRi  SPECTS. 


2CS 


not  be  returned  in  time  without  I  went  over  with  the  Indian 
women  and  brought  it  back.  My  young  frend  was  delighted 
at  the  idea  of  the  frolic,  and  as  she  could  both  steer  and  pad« 
die,  and  the  day  was  calm  and  bright,  though  excessively 
warm,  we  both  agreed  to  accompany  the  squaws  to  the  othe* 
side,  and  bring  back  the  canoe. 

Mrs.  Muskrat  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  fine  fat  kitten, 
whom  the  children  had  called  "  Buttermilk,"  and  she  begged 
so  hard  for  the  little  puss,  that  1  presented  it  to  her,  rathei: 
marvelling  how  she  would  contrive  to  carry  it  so  many  miles 
through  the  woods,  and  she  loaded  with  such  an  enormous 
pack ;  when,  lo !  the  squaw  took  down  the  bundle,  and,  in  the 
heart  of  the  piles  of  dried  venison,  she  deposited  the  cat  in  a 
small  basket,  giving  it  a  thin  slice  of  the  meat  to  console  it 
for  its  close  confinement.  Puss  received  the  donation  with 
piteous  mews ;  it  was  evident  that  mice  and  freedom  were 
preferred  by  her  to  venison  and  the  honour  of  riding  on  a 
squaw's  back. 

The  squaws  paddled  us  quickly  across,  and  we  laughed 
and  chatted  as  we  bounded  over  the  blue  waves,  until  we 
were  landed  in  a  dark  cedar  swamp,  in  the  heart  of  which  we 
found  the  Indian  encampment. 

A  large  party  were  lounging  around  the  fire,  superintend- 
irg  the  drying  of  a  q-uantity  of  venison  which  was  suspended 
on  forked  sticks.  Besides  the  flesh  of  the  deer,  a  number  of 
muskrats  were  skinned,  and  extended  as  if  standing  hurt  up- 
right before  the  fire,  warming  their  paws.  The  appearance 
they  cut  was  most  ludicrous.  My  young  friend  poi\ited  to 
the  muslcrats,  as  she  sank  down,  laughing,  upon  ons  of  the 
skins. 

Old  Snow-storm,  who  was  present,  imagined  that  she 
wanted  one  of  them  to  eat,  and  very  gravely  handed  her  the 
unsavourv  beast,  stick  and  all. 


li 


1 


I  ■  r  ■     :  u  . 


liil 


i }] 


'<■   <  ".mil 


i.:'-B! 


ik: 


;^  ^'i'^ 


204 


ROUGHINQ  IT  IN  TUE  BUSH. 


"  Does  the  old  man  take  me  for  a  cannibal  ?"  she  said 
"  I  would  as  soon  eat  a  child." 

Among  the  many  odd  things  cooking  at  that  fire  theri 
was  something  that  had  the  appearance  of  a  bull-frog. 

"  What  can  that  be  V  she  said,  directing  my  eyes  to  tha 
strange  monster.     "  Surely  they  don't  eat  bull-frogs !" 

This  sally  was  received  by  a  grunt  of  approbation  from 
Snow-storm ;  and,  though  Indians  seldom  forget  their  dignity 
so  far  as  to  laugh,  he  for  once  laid  aside  his  stoical  gravity, 
and,  twirling  the  thing  round  with  a  stick,  burst  into  a  hearty 
peal. 

"  Muckakee  !  Indian  eat  mnckakee  ? — Ha !  ha !  Indian  no 
eat  muckakee !  Frenchmans  eat  his  hind  legs ;  they  say  the 
speckled  beast  much  good.  This  no  muckakee  ! — the  liver  of 
deer,  dried — very  nice — Indian  eat  him." 

"  I  wish  him  much  joy  of  the  delicate  morsel,"  said  the 
saucy  girl,  who  was  intent  upon  quizzing  and  examining  every 
thing  in  the  camp. 

We  had  remained  the  best  part  of  an  hour,  when  Mrs. 
Muskrat  laid  hold  of  my  hand,  and  leading  me  through  the 
bush  to  the  shore,  pointed  up  significantly  to  a  cloud,  as  dark 
as  night,  that  hung  loweringly  over  the  bush. 

'•  Thunder  in  that  cloud — get  over  the  lake — quick,  quick, 
before  it  breaks."  Then  motioning  for  us  to  jump  into  the 
canoe,  she  threw  in  the  paddles,  and  pushed  us  from  the  shore. 

We  saw  the  necessity  of  haste,  and  both  plied  the  paddle 
with  diligence  to  gain  the  opposite  bank,  or  at  least  the  shelter 
of  the  island,  before  the  cloud  poured  down  its  fury  upon  us. 
We  were  just  in  the  middle  of  the  current  when  the  first  peal 
of  thunder  broke  with  startling  nearness  over  our  heads.  The 
storm  frowned  darkly  upon  the  woods  ;  the  rain  came  down 
in  torrents ;  and  there  were  we  exposed  to  its  utmost  fury  \h 
the  middle  of  a  current  too  strong  for  us  to  stem. 


K^ 


^ 


A   O/fAN'OE  LV  OUli  PHOSPIWTS. 


205 


"What  shall  we  do?  We  shall  be  drowned!"  said  mj 
young  friend,  turning  her  pal'',  tearful  face  towards  me. 

"  Let  the  canoe  float  down  the  current  till  we  get  close  to 
the  island  ;  then  run  her  into  the  land.  I  saved  mysJf  once 
before  by  ihis  plan." 

We  did  so,  and  were  safe ;  but  there  we  had  to  remain, 
wet  to  our  skins,  until  the  wind  and  the  rain  abated  sufficiently 
for  us  to  manage  our  little  craft.  "  How  do  you  like  being 
upon  the  lake  in  a  storm  like  this  ?"  I  whispered  to  my  shiver- 
ing, dripping  companion. 

"  Very  well  in  romance,  but  terribly  dull  in  reality.  We 
lannot,  however,  call  it  a  dry  joke,"  continued  she,  wringing 
the  rain  from  her  dress.  "  1  wish  we  were  suspended  over  Old 
Snow-storm's  fire  with  the  bull-frog,  for  I  hate  a  shower-bath 
with  my  clothes  on." 

I  took  warning  by  this  adventure,  never  to  cross  the  lake 
again  without  a  stronger  arm  than  mine  in  the  canoe  to  steer 
me  safely  through  the  current. 

I  received  much  kind  attention  from  my  new  neighbour, 

the  Rev.  W.  W ,  a  truly  excellent  and  pious  clergyman 

of  the  English  Church.  The  good,  white-haired  old  man  ex- 
pressed the  kindest  sympathy  in  all  my  trials,  and  strength- 
ened me  greatly  with  his  benevolent   counsels  and   gentle 

charity.     Mr.  W was  a  true  follower  of  Christ.     His 

Christianity  was  not  confined  to  his  own  denomination  ;  and 
every  Sabbath  his  log  cottage  was  filled  with  attentive  audi- 
tors, of  all  persuasions,  who  met  together  to  listen  to  the  word 
of  life  delivered  to  them  by  a  Christian  minister  in  the  wilder- 
ness. 

He  had  been  a  very  fine  preacher,  and  though  considerably 
turned  of  seventy,  his  voice  was  still  excellent,  and  his  man- 
ner solemn  and  impressive. 

His  only  son,  a  young  man  of  twenty-eight  years  of  ago 


I 


Q'-:-  I 


Ii 

;': 

If 

1? 

',' 

'1 

1 

■ 

■" 

-  '  :l 

'3 

■ 

, 

i>()() 


liOUUlllXU  IT  l.\  Tllh  Husn. 


had  received  a  serious  injury  in  the  brain  by  falling  upoh  a 
turf-spade  from  a  loft  v/indow  when  a  child,  and  his  intellect 
had  remained  stationary  from  that  time.  Poor  Harry  was  an 
innocent  child  ;  he  loved  his  parents  with  the  simplicity  of  a 
child,  and  all  who  spoke  kindly  to  him  he  regarded  as  friends. 
Like  most  persons  of  his  caste  of  mind,  his  predilection  for  pet 
animals  was  a  prominent  instinct.  He  was  always  followed 
by  two  dogs,  whom  he  regarded  with  especial  favour.  The 
moment  he  caught  your  eye,  he  looked  down  admiringly  upon 
his  four-footed  attendants,  patting  their  sleek  necks,  and  mur- 
muring, "  Nice  dogs — nice  dogs."  Harry  had  singled  out  my- 
self and  my  little  ones  as  great  favourites.  He  wcjld  gather 
flowers  for  the  girls,  and  catch  biiiterflies  for  the  boys ;  while 
to  me  he  always  gave  the  title  of  "  dear  aunt." 

it  so  happened  that  one  fine  morning  I  wanted  to  walk  a 
couple  of  miles  through  the  bush,  to  spend  the  day  with  Mrs. 
C :  but  the  woods  were  full  of  the  cattle  belonffing  to 


the  neighbouring  settlers,  and  of  these  I  was  terribly  afraid. 
iVhilst  I  was  dressing  the  little  girls  to  accompany  me,  Harry 

W came  in  with  a  message  ft'om  his  mother.     "  Oh," 

thought  I,  "  here  is  Harry  W .     He  will  walk  with  us 

through  the  bush,  and  defend  us  from  the  cattle." 

The  proposition  was  made,  and  Harry  was  not  a  little 
proud  of  being  invited  to  join  our  party.  We  had  accom- 
plished half  the  distance  without  seeing  a  single  hoof;  and  I 
was  beginning  to  congratulate  myself  upon  our  unusual  luck, 
when  a  large  red  ox,  maddened  by  the  rtings  of  the  gadflies, 
came  headlong  through  the  brush,  tossiiig  up  the  withered 
leaves  and  dried  moss  with  his  horns,  and  making  directly 
towards  us.  I  screamed  to  my  champion  for  help  ;  but  where 
was  he  ? — running  like  a  frightened  chissmunk  along  the  fallen 
timber,  shouting  to  my  eldest  girl,  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 

"  Run,  Katty,  run !— The  bull,  the  bull !     Run,  Katty  !— 


*j 


j,i»i:j'.^;.'u.i;i.;'»i.^'.,j.tt,M'.:X'j>ti^ 


A    CKAXdE  L\  OUH  P liO.il' KVTS, 


'.'07 


The  bull,  the  bull !'' — leaving  us  poor  creatures  far  belli utl  '\l 
the  chase. 

The  bull,  who  cared  not  one  fig  for  us,  did  not  even  slop 
to  give  us  a  passing  stare,  and  was  soon  lost  among  the 
trees ;  while  our  valiant  knight  never  stopped  to  see  what  had 
become  of  us,  but  made  the  best  of  hia  way  home.  So  much 
for  taking  an  innocent  for  a  guard. 

The  next  month  most  of  the  militia  regiments  were  dis 
banded.     My  husband's  services  were  no  longer  required  at 

P ,  and  he  once  more  returned  to  help  to  gather  in  our 

scanty  harvest.  Many  of  the  old  debts  were  paid  off  by  his 
hard-saved  pay ;  and  though  all  hope  of  continuing  in  the 
militia  service  was  at  an  end,  our  condition  was  so  much  in)- 
proved  that  we  looked  less  to  the  dark  than  to  the  sunny  sidtj 
of  the  landscape. 

llie  potato  crop  was  gathered  in,  and  I  had  collected  my 
store  of  dandelion  roots  for  our  winter  supply  of  cottce,  when 
one  day  brought  a  letter  to  my  husband  from  the  Governor's 

secretary,  oflering  him  the  situation  of  sheriff  of  the  V 

district.  Though  perfectly  unacquainted  with  the  difficulties 
and  responsibilities  of  such  an  important  office,  my  hu?band 
looked  upon  it  as  a  gift  sent  from  heaven  to  remove  us  from 
the  sorrows  and  poverty  with  which  we  were  surrounded  in 
the  woods. 

Once  more  he  bade  us  farewell ;  but  it  was  to  go  and 
make  ready  a  home  for  us,  that  we  should  no  more  be  se[)a- 
rated  from  each  other. 

Heartily  did  I  return  thanks  to  God  that  night  for  all  his 
mercies  to  us ;  and  Sir  George  Arthur  was  not  forgotten  in 

those  prayers,     ^.^(/t  inXJjb 

From   B ,  my  husband  wrote  to  me  to  make  what 

haste  I  could  in  disposing  of  our  crops,  household  furniture, 
stock,  and  farming  implements;  and  to  prepare  myself  and 


k 


/ 


'20H 


lioraniya  ir  in  the  bush. 


the  children  to  join  him  on  tho  first  fall  of  snow  that  would 
make  the  roads  practicable  \)Y  sleighing.  To  facilitate  this 
object,  he  sent  mo  a  box  of  t^lothing,  to  make  up  for  myself 
and  the  children. 

For  seven  years  I  nad  lived  out  of  the  world  entirely  ;  my 
person  had  been  rendered  coarse  by  hard  work  and  exposure 
to  the  weather.  I  looked  double  the  age  I  really  was,  and 
my  hair  was  already  thickly  sprinkled  with  gray.  I  clung  to 
my  solitude.  I  did  not  like  to  be  dragged  from  it  to  mingle 
in  gay  scenes,  in  a  busy  town,  and  with  gayly-dressed  people. 
I  was  no  longer  fit  for  the  world ;  I  had  lost  all  relish  for  the 
pursuits  and  pleasures  which  are  so  essential  to  its  votaries; 
T  was  contented  to  live  and  die  in  obscurity. 

My  dear  Emilia  rejoiced,  like  a  true  friend,  in  my  changed 
prospects,  and  came  up  to  help  me  to  cut  clothes  for  the  chil- 
dren, and  to  assist  me  in  preparing  them  for  the  journey. 

I  succeeded  in  selling  off  our  goods  and  cliattels  much 

better  than  I  expected.     My  old  friend,  Mr.  W ,  who 

was  a  new  comer,  became  the  principal  purchaser,  and  when 
Christmas  arrived  I  had  not  one  article  left  upon  my  handa 
Mve  the  bedding,  which  it  was  necessary  to  take  with  us. 


M     ' 


f^     ^ 


if      f 


'i,^ 


jm&-<-^M 


^j5fi!;saW5«iB«^86l«w»w«»T'-^ 


THE  MAGIC  SPELL. 


209 


It  would 
tato  this 
myself 

'■y ;  j"y 

xposuro 

vHs,  and 

clung  to 

mingle 

people. 

for  the 

otarles ; 

changed 
the  chil- 

ey. 

s  much 
— ,  who 
id  when 
y  hands 
us. 


. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 


THE    MAOIO    SPELL. 


N£VER  did  eager  British  children  look  for  the  first  violebi 
and  primroses  of  spring  with  more  impatience  than  my 
baby  boys  and  girls  watched,  day  after  day,  for  the  first 
snow-flakes  that  were  to  form  the  road  to  convey  them  to 
their  absent  father. 

"  Winter  never  means  to  come  this  year.  It  will  neve- 
snow  again !"  exclaimed  my  eldest  boy,  turning  from  'j\a 
window  on  Christmas-day,  with  the  most  rueful  aspect  that 
ever  greeted  the  broad,  gay  beams  of  the  glorious  sun.  It 
was  like  a  spring  day.  The  little  lake  in  front  of  the  window 
glittered  like  a  mirror  of  silver,  set  in  its  dark  frame  of 
pine  woods. 

I,  too,  was  wearying  for  the  snow,  and  was  tempted  to 
think  that  it  did  not  come  as  early  as  usual,  in  order  to  dis. 
appoint  us.  But  I  kept  this  to  myself,  and  comforted  the 
expecting  child  with  the  oft-repeated  assertion  that  it  would 
certainly  snow  upon  the  morrow. 

But  the  morrow  came  and  passed  away,  and  many  other 
morrows,  and  the  same  mild,  open  weather  prevailed.  The 
last  night  of  the  old  year  was  ushered  in  with  furious  storms 
of  wind  and  snow ;  the  rafters  of  our  log  cabin  shook  beneath 
the  violence  of  the  gale,  which  swept  up  from  the  lake  like 
a  lion  roaring  for  its  prey,  driving  the  snow-flakes  through 
every  open  crevice,  of  which  there  were  not  a  few,  and  pow 


210 


MOUQHINQ  IT  AV   THE  JiUSH. 


dering  the  floor  until  it  rivalled  in  whiteness  the  ground  with 
out. 

"  Oh,  what  a  dreadful  night !"  we  cried,  as  we  huddled 
shivering,  around  the  old  broken  stove.  "  A  person  abroad 
in  the  woods  to-night  would  be  frozen.  Flesh  and  blood 
could  not  long  stand  this  cutting  wind." 

"  It  reminds  me  of  the  commencement  of  a  laughable  ex- 
tempore ditty,"  said  I  to  my  young  friend,  A.  C ,  who 

was  staying  with  me,  "  composed  by  my  husband,  during  the 
first  very  cold  night  we  spent  in  Canada : 

"  Oh,  the  cold  of  Canada  nobody  knows, 
The  fire  burns  onr  shoes  without  warming  our  toes  ; 
Oh,  dear,  what  sliall  we  do? 
Our  blankets  are  thin,  and  our  noses  are  blue — 
Our  noses  are  blue,  and  our  blankets  are  thin, 
It's  at  zero  without,  and  we  're  freezing  within ! 

(^Chorus.)  Oh,  dear,  what  shall  we  do? 

"  But,  joking  apart,  my  dear  A ,  we  ought  to  be  very 

thankful  that  we  are  not  travelling  this  night  to  B ." 

"  But  to-morrow,"  said  my  eldest  boy,  lifting  up  his  curly 
head  from  my  lap.  "  It  will  be  fine  to-morrow,  and  we  shall 
see  dear  papa  again." 

In  this  hope  he  lay  down  on  his  little  bed  upon  the  floor, 
and  was  soon  fast  asleep  ;  perhaps  dreaming  of  that  eagerly- 
anticipated  journey,  and  of  meeting  his  beloved  father. 

Sleep  was  a  stranger  to  my  eyes.  The  tempest  raged  so 
furiously  without  that  I  was  fearful  the  roof  would  be  carried 
off*  the  house,  or  that  the  chimney  would  take  fire.  The 
night  was  far  advanced  when  old  Jenny  and  myself  retired 
to  bed. 

My  boy's  words  were  prophetic ;  that  was  the  last  night 
I  ever  spent  in  the  bush — m  the  dear  forest  home  which  I  had 
loved  in  spite  of  all  the  hardships  which  wc  had  endured  sinc« 


Tim  MAGIC  SPELL. 


211 


nd  with 

nuddled 

abroad 

i   blood 

lable  ex- 
— ,  who 
iring  the 


be  very 


« 


lis  cunv 
we  shaii 

he  floor, 
eagerly- 

raged  so 
3  carried 
re.  The 
f  retired 

ist  night 
ich  I  had 
red  sinc« 


we  pitched  our  tent  in  the  backwoods.  It  was  the  birthplace 
of  my  three  boys,  the  school  of  high  resolve  and  etiergetio 
action,  in  which  we  had  learned  to  meet  calmly,  and  success- 
fully  to  battle  with,  the  ills  of  life.  Nor  did  I  leave  it  without 
many  regretful  tears,  to  mingle  once  more  with  a  world  to 
whose  usages,  during  my  long  solitude,  I  had  become  almost  a 
stTanger,  and  to  whose  praise  or  blame  I  felt  alike  indifferent. 

When  the  day  dawned,  the  whole  forest  scenery  lay  glit- 
tering  in  a  mantle  of  dazzling  white ;  the  sun  shone  brightly, 
the  heavens  were  intensely  blue,  but  the  cold  was  so  severe 
that  every  article  of  food  had  to  be  thawed  before  we  could 
get  our  breakfast.  Tlie  very  blankets  that  covered  us  during 
the  night  were  stiff  with  our  frozen  breath.  "  I  hope  the 
sleighs  won't  come  to-day,"  I  cried  ;  "  we  should  be  frozen  on 
the  long  journey." 

About  noon  two  sleighs  turned  into  our  clearing.  Oli 
Jenny  ran  screaming  into  the  room,  "  The  masthcr  has  sent 
for  us  at  last !  The  sleighs  are  come  !  Fine  large  sleighs, 
and  illigant  teams  of  horses!  Och,  and  it's  a  cowld  day  for 
the  wee  things  to  lave  the  bush." 

The  snow  had  been  a  week  in  advance  of  us  at  B ,  and 

my  husband  had  sent  up  the  teams  to  remove  us.  The  chil- 
dren jumped  about,  and  laughed  aloud  for  joy.  Old  Jenny 
did  not  know  whether  to  laugh  ur  cry,  but  she  set  about  help- 
ing me  to  pack  up  trunks  and  bedding  as  fast  as  our  cold 
hands  would  permit. 

hi  the  midst  of  the  confusion,  my  brother  arrived,  like  a 
good  genius,  to  our  assit^tancc,  declaring  his  determination  tc 

take  us  down  to  B himself  in  his  large  lumber-sleigh. 

This  was  indeed  joyful  news.  In  less  than  three  hours  ho  des- 
patched (he  hired  sleighs  with  their  loads,  and  we  all  stood 
together  in  the  empty  house,  striving  to  warm  our  hands  over 
the  ombers  of  the  expiring  fire. 


!3^' 


I. 


til 


213 


ROUGHING  IT  IN  THE  BU^fT. 


How  cold  and  desolate  every  object  appeared  !  The  small 
windows,  half  blocked  up  with  snow,  scarcely  allowed  a 
glimpse  of  the  declining  sun  to  cheer  us  with  his  serene  aspect. 
In  spite  of  the  cold,  several  kind  friends  had  waded  through 
the  deep  snow  to  say,  "  God  bless  you  ! — Good-bye  ;"  while 
a  group  of  silent  Indians  stood  together,  gazing  upon  our  pro- 
ceedings with  an  earnestness  which  showed  that  they  were  not 
uninterested  in  the  scene.  As  we  passed  out  to  the  sleigh, 
they  pressed  forward,  and  silently  held  out  their  hands,  while 
the  squaws  kissed  me  and  the  little  ones  with  tearful  eyes. 
Tliey  had  been  true  fi'iends  to  us  in  our  dire  necessity,  and  I 
returned  their  mute  farewell  from  my  very  heart. 

Mr.  S sprang  into  the  sleigh.     One  of  our  party  was 

missing.  "  Jenny !"  shouted  my  brother,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  "  it  is  too  cold  to  keep  your  mistress  and  the  little  chil- 
dren waiting." 

"  Och,  shure  thin,  it  is  I  that  am  comin' !"  Ktur  ledthe  old 
body,  as  she  issued  from  the  house. 

Shouts  of  laughter  greeted  her  appearance.  The  figure  she 
cut  upon  that  memorable  day  T  shall  never  forget.  My  bro 
ther  dropped  the  reins  upon  the  horses'  necks,  and  fairly 
roared.  Jenny  was  about  to  commence  her  journey  to  the 
front  in  three  hats.  Was  it  to  protect  her  from  the  cold  l 
Oh,  no ;  Jenny  was  not  afraid  of  the  cold  !  She  could  have 
eaten  her  breakfast  on  the  north  side  of  an  iceberg,  and  always 
dispensed jwith  shoes,  during  the  most  severe  of  our  Canadian 
winters.    It  was  to  protect  these  precious  articles  from  injury. 

Our  good  neighbour,  Mrs.  W ,  had  presented  her  with 

an  old  sky-blue  druwn-silk  bonnet,  as  a  parting  benediction. 
Tills,  by  way  of  distinction,  for  she  iicver  had  possessed  such 
an  article  of  luxury  as  a  silk  br>nnet  in  her  life,  Jenny  had 
placed  over  the  coarse  calico  cap,  with  its  full  furbelow  of 
the  same  yellow,  ill-washed,  homely  material,  next  to  her 


THE  MAGIG  SPELL. 


213 


head ,  oyer  this,  as  second  in  degree,  a  sun-burnt  straw  hat, 
with  xftaed!  pink  ribbons,  just  showed  its  broken  rim  and  taw- 
dry trimmings ',  and,  to  crown  all,  and  serve  as  a  guard  to  rhe 
rest,  a  really  serviceable  gray  beaver  bonnet,  once  mine,  tow- 
ered up  as  high  as  xhe  celebrated  crown  in  which  brother 
Peter  figures  in  SwiftS  "  Tale  of  a  Tub." 

"  Mercy,  Jenny  !  Why,  old  woman,  you  don't  mean  to  go 
with  us  that  figure  ?" 

"  Och,  my  dear  heart !  IVe  no  bandbox  to  kape  the  cowld 
from  desthroying  my  ill;^^\t  bonnets,"  icturned  Jenny,  lay- 
ing her  hand  upon  the  side  of  .ho  sleigh. 

"Go  back,  Jenny;  go  bc^k"  cried  my  brother.  "For 
God's  sake  take  all  that  tomfoohy  from  off  your  head.  We 
shall  be  the  laughing-stock  of  e^tvy  village  we  pass  through." 

"  Och,  shure  now,  Mr.  S ,  *tho'd  thii.k  of  looking  at  an 

owld  crathar  like  me !  It's  only  ytvrsel'  that  would  notice  the 
like." 

"  All  the  world,  every  body  ^culd  look  at  you,  Jenny. 
I  believe  that  you  put  on  those  hatj  to  draw  the  attention  of 
all  the  young  fellows  that  we  shali  happen  to  meet  on  the 
road.     Ha,  Jenny  !" 

With  an  air  of  offended  dignity,  the  old  woman  returned 
to  the  house  to  re-arrange  her  toilet,  arid  provide  for  the 
safety  of  her  "  illigant  bonnets,"  one  of  which  she  suspended 
to  the  strings  of  her  cloak,  while  she  carried  the  third  dan- 
gling in  her  hand ;  and  no  persuasion  of  mine  would  induce 
her  to  put  them  out  of  sight. 

Many  painful  and  conflicting  emotions  agitated  my  mind, 
but  found  no  utterance  in  words,  as  we  entered  the  forest 
path,  and  I  looked  my  last  upon  that  huiiible  home  consecra- 
ted by  the  memory  of  a  thousand  sorrows.  Every  object  had 
become  endeared  to  me  during  my  long  exile  from  civilized 
life.     I  loved  the  lonely  lake,  with  its  magnificent  belt  of  dark 


214 


liOUOIUNG  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


if'  .,* 

'i   (.■»! 


l4i'i;^      _ 


^li! 


piiies  fnghing  in  the  breeze ;  the  cedar  swamp,  the  summer 
homo  of  my  dark  Indian  fri.-^nds ;  my  own  dear  little  garden, 
with  its  rugged  snake-fence,  which  I  had  helped  Jenny  to 
place  with  my  own  hands,  and  which  I  had  assisted  the  faith- 
ful woman  in  cultivating  for  the  last  three  years,  where  I  hai 
so  often  braved  the  tormenting  mosqu.ooes,  black-flies,  and 
intense  heat,  to  pi'ovide  vcretables  for  the  use  of  the  family. 
Even  the  cows,  that  had  given  a  breakfast  for  the  last  time  '/) 
my  children,  were  now  regarded  with  mournful  afiection.  A 
poor  labourer  stood  in  the  doorway  of  the  deserted  house, 
holding  my  noble  water-dog.  Rover,  in  a  string.  The  pooT 
fellow  gave  a  joyous  bark  as  my  eyes  fell  upon  him. 

"  James  J ,  take  care  of  my  dog." 

"  Never  fear,  ma'am,  he  shall  bide  with  me  as  long  as  he 
lives." 

"  He  and  the  Indians  at  least  feel  grieved  for  our  depart- 
ure," I  thought.  Love  is  so  scarce  in  this  world  that  we 
ought  to  prize  it,  however  lowly  the  source  from  whence  it 
flows. 

We  accomplished  only  twelve  miles  of  our  journey  that 
night.  The  road  lay  through  the  bush,  and  along* the  banka 
of  the  grand,  rushing,  foaming  Otonabee  river,  the  wildest  and 
most  beautiful  of  forest  streams.  We  slept  at  the  house  of 
kind  friends,  and  early  in  the  morning  resumed  our  long  jour- 
ney, but  minus  one  of  our  party.  Our  old  favourite  cat, 
Peppermint,  had  made  her  escape  from  the  basket  in  which 
fcihe  had  been  confined,  and  had  scampered  off,  to  the  great 
grief  of  the  children. 

As  we  passed  Mrs.  H 's  house,  we  called  for  dear  Ad- 

die.     Mr.  II brought  her  in  his  arms  to  the  gate,  well 

wrapped  up  in  a  large  fur  oape  and  a  warm  woollen  shawl. 

"  You  are  robbing  me  of  my  dear  little  girl,"  he  said. 
"Mrs.  H is  absent;   she  told  me  not  to  part  with  her 


^ 


THE  MAGIC  SPELL. 


215 


if  you  should  /vail ;  but  I  could  net  detain  her  without  ycui* 
consent.  Now  that  you  have  seen  her,  allow  mo  to  keep  her 
for  a  few  months  longer !" 

Addie  \,ds  in  the  sleigh.     I  put  my  arm  around  her. 
felt  I  had  my  child  again,  and  I  secretly  rejoiced  in  the  pos- 
session  of  my  own.     I  sincerely  thanked  him  for  his  kmdness, 
and  Mr.  S drove  on. 

At  Mr.  R 's,  we  found  a  parcel  from  dear  Emilia,, 

containing  a  plum-cake  and  other  good  things  forthechildre.i. 
Her  kindness  never  flagged. 

We  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  Otonabee,  in  the  rising 
town  of  Peterborough,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  W  in- 
ter had  now  set  in  fairly.  The  children  were  glad  to  huddle 
together  in  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh,  under  the  buffalo  skins 
and  blankets ;  all  but  my  eldest  boy,  who,  just  turned  of  five 
years  old,  was  enchanted  with  all  he  heard  and  saw,  and  con- 
tinued to  stand  up  and  gaze  around  him.  Born  in  the  forest, 
which  he  had  never  quitted  before,  the  sight  of  a  town  was 
such  a  novelty  that  he  could  find  no  words  wherewith  to  ex- 
press his  astonishment. 

"  Are  the  houses  come  to  see  one  another  *?"  he  asked, 
"  How  did  they  all  meet  here  V 

The  question  greatly  amused  his  uncle,  who  took  some 
pains  to  explain  to  him  the  dilFerence  between  town  and 
country.  During  the  day,  we  got  rid  of  old  Jenny  and  her 
bonnets,  whom  we  found  a  very  refractory  travelling  com- 
panion ;  as  wilful,  and  far  more  difficult  to  manage  tlian  a 
young  child.     Fortunately,  we  overtook  the  sleighs  with  the 

furniture,  and  Mr.  S transferred  Jenny  to  the  care  of  one 

of  the  drivers ;  an  arrangement  that  proved  satisfactory  to 
all  parties. 

We  had  been  most  fortunate  in  obtaining  comfortable 
lodgings  for  the  night.     The  evening  had  closed  in  so  intensely 


\M 


I 


210  ROUOIIING  IT  IN  THE  JilSU.         0(j(^ijUYCi 

cold,  that  although  we  were  only  two  miles  from  C ' 

Addie  was  so  much  aflfected  by  it  that  the  child  lay  sick  and 
pale  in  my  arms,  and,  when  spoken  to,  seemed  scarcely  con 
scious  of  our  presence. 

My  brother  jumped  from  the  front  seat,  and  came  round 
to  look  at  her.  "  That  child  is  ill  with  the  cold  ;  we  must 
stop  somewhere  to  warm  her,  or  she  will  hardly  hold  out  till 
we  get  to  the  inn  at  C ," 

We  were  just  entering  the  little  village  of  A ,  in  the 

vicinity  of  the  court-house,  and  we  stopped  at  a  pretty  green 
cottage,  ard  asked  permisision  to  warm  the  children.  A 
stout,  middle-aged  woman  came  to  th3  sleigh,  and  in  the  kind- 
est manner  requested  us  to  alight. 

"  I  think  I  know  that  voice,"  I  said.  "  Surely  it  cannot  be 
Mrs.  S ,  who  once  kept  the hotel  at  C 1" 

"  Mrs.  Moodie,  you  are  welcome,"  said  the  excellent  woman, 
bestowing  upon  me  a  most  friendly  embrace ;  "  you  and  your 
children.  I  am  heartily  glad  to  see  you  again  afler  so  many 
years.     God  bless  you  all !" 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  kindness  and  hospitality  of  this 
generous  woman  ;  she  would  not  hear  of  our  leaving  her  that 
night,  and,  directing  my  brother  to  put  up  his  horses  in  her 
stable,  she  made  up  an  excellent  fire  in  a  large  bedroom,  and 
helped  me  to  undress  the  little  ones  who  were  already  asleep, 
and  to  warm  and  feed  the  rest  before  we  put  them  to  bed. 

This  meeting  gave  me  real  pleasure.  In  their  station  of 
life,  1  seldom  have  found  a  more  worthy  couple  than  this 
American  and  his  wife ;  and,  having  witnessed  so  man}'  of 
their  acts  of  kindness,  both  to  ourselves  and  others,  I  enter- 
tained for  them  a  sincere  respect  and  affection,  and  truly  re- 
joiced that  Providence  had  once  more  led  me  to  the  sheltei 
of  their  roof. 

Mr.  S was  absent,  but  I  found  little  Mary — tlie  sweol 


l_^    y  [■■■ipMIWMjl^l|HI|IIIMi<riiHI 


•r 


UYd 


THE  MAGIG  SPELL. 


217 


7 


c  and 
con 


child  who  used  to  listen  with  such  delight  to  Moodie's  flute — 
grown  up  into  a  beautiful  girl ;  and  the  baby  that  was,  a  fine 
child  of  eight  years  old.  The  next  morning  was  so  intensely 
cold  that  my  brother  would  not  resume  the  journey  until  past 
ten  o'clock,  and  even  then  it  was  a  hazardous  experiment. 

We  had  not  proceeded  four  miles  before  the  horses  were 
covered  with  icicles.  Our  hair  was  frozen  as  white  as  Old 
Time's  solitary  forelock,  our  eyelids  stiff,  and  every  limb 
aching  with  cold. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  said  my  brother,  turning  to  me ; 
"  the  children  will  freeze.  1  never  felt  the  cold  more  severe 
than  this." 

"  Where  can  we   stop  V  said  I  ;  "  we  are  miles  from 

C ,  and  I  see  no  prospect  of  the  weather  becoming 

milder." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  I  know,  by  the  very  intensity  of  the  cold,  that 
a  change  is  at  hand.  We  seldoin  have  more  than  three  very 
severe  days  running,  and  this  is  the  third.  At  all  events,  it 
is  much  warmer  at  night  in  this  country  than  during  the  day ; 
the  wind  drops,  and  the  frost  is  more  bearable.  I  know  a 
worthy  farmer  who  lives  about  a  mile  ahead ;  he  will  give  us 
house-room  for  a  few  hours,  and  we  will  resume  our  journey 
hi  the  evening.  The  moon  is  at  full ;  and  it  will  be  easier  to 
wrap  the  children  up,  and  keep  them  warm  when  they  are 
asleep.     Shall  we  stop  at  Old  Woodruff's  ?" 

"  With  all  my  heart."  My  teeth  were  chattering  with  the 
cold,  and  the  children  were  crying  over  their  aching  fingers 
at  the  bottom  of  the  sleigh. 

A  few  minutes'  ride  brought  us  to  a  large  farm-house,  sur- 
rounded by  commodious  sheds  and  barns.  A  fine  orchard 
opposite,  and  a  yard  well  stocked  with  fat  cattle  and  sheep, 
sleek  geese,  and  plethoric-looking  swine,  gave  promise  of  a 
land  of  abundance  and  comfort.     My  brother  ran  into  the 

VOL.  II.  10 


%  ? 


W  t'- 


i 


9t    -it 


318 


ROUGlUyO  IT  IN  THE  BUSH. 


house  to  see  if  the  owner  was  at  home,  and  presently  re- 
turned, accompanied  by  the  staunch  Canadian  yeoman  and 
his  daughter,  who  gave  us  a  truly  hearty  welcome,  and  as. 
sisted  in  removing  the  children  from  the  sleigh  to  the  cheerful 
fire,  that  made  all  bright  and  cozy  within. 

Our  host  was  a  shrewd,  humorous-looking  Yorkshireman. 
His  red,  weather  beaten  face,  and  tall,  athletic  figure,  bent  as 
it  was  with  hard  labour,  gave  indications  of  great  personal 
strength;  and  a  certain  knowing  twinkle  in  his  small,  clear 
gi'ay  eyes,  which  had  been  acquired  by  long  dealing  with  the 
world,  with  a  quiet,  sarcastic  smile  that  lurked  round  the 
corners  of  his  large  mouth,  gave  you  the  idea  of  a  man 
who  could  not  easily  be  deceived  by  his  fellows ;  one  who, 
though  no  rogue  himself,  was  quick  in  detecting  the  roguery 
of  others.  His  manners  were  frank  and  easy,  and  he  was 
such  a  hospitable  entertainer  that  you  felt  at  home  with  him 
in  a  minute. 

"  Well,  how  are  you,  Mr.  S ?"  cried  the  farmer,  sha- 

king  my  brother  heartily  by  the  hand.  "  Toiling  in  the  bush 
still,  eh  r 

"  Just  in  the  same  place." 

"  And  the  wife  and  children  f 

"  Hearty.  Some  half-dozen  have  been  added  to  the  flock 
since  you  were  our  way." 

"So  much  the  better — so  much  the  better.  The  more 
the  merrier,  Mr.  S ;  children  are  riches  in  this  country.** 

"  I  know  not  how  that  may  be ;  I  find  it  hard  to  clothe 
and  feed  mine." 

"  Wait  till  they  grow  up ;  they  will  be  brave  helps  to  you 

then.     The  price  of  labour — the  price  of  labour,  Mr.  S , 

b  the  destruction  of  the  farmer." 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  trouble  you  much,  Wo(»druff,"  said 
my  brother,  glancing  round  the  well-furnished  apartment. 


THE  MAGIC  HP  ELI, 


21 » 


"  My  son  and  S do  it  all,"  cried  the  old  man.     "  Of 

c  >urse  the  girls  help  in  busy  times,  and  take  care  of  the  dairy, 
and  we  hire  occasionallv ;  but  small  as  the  sum  is  which  is 
expended  in  wages  during  seed-time  and  harvest,  I  feel  it,  I 
can  tell  you." 

"  You  are  married  again,  Woodruflf?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  the  farmer,  with  a  peculiar  smile ;  "  not 
yet :"  which  seemed  to  imply  the  probability  of  such  an 
event.  "  That  tall  gal  is  my  eldest  daughter ;  she  manages 
the  house,  and  an  excellent  housekeeper  she  is.  But  I  cannot 
keep  her  for  ever."  With  a  knowing  wink.  "  Gals  will  think 
of  getting  married,  and  seldom  corwsult  the  wishes  of  their 
parents  upon  the  subject  when  once  they  have  taken  the  notion 

into  their  heads.     But  'tis  natural,  Mr.  S ,  it  is  natural ; 

we  did  just  the  same  when  we  were  young." 

My  brother  looked  laughingly  towards  the  fine,  handsome 
young  woman,  as  she  placed  upon  the  table  hot  water,  whiskey, 
and  a  huge  plate  of  plum-cake,  which  did  not  lack  a  com- 
panion, stored  with  the  finest  apples  which  the  orchard  could 
produce 

The  young  girl  looked  down,  and  blushed. 

"  Oh,  1  see  how  it  is.  Woodruff!  You  will  soon  lose  your 
daughter.  I  wonder  that  you  have  kept  her  so  long.  But 
who  are  these  young  ladies'?"  he  continued,  as  three  girls 
very  demurely  entered  the  room. 

"  The  two  youngest  are  my  darters,  by  my  last  wife,  -who, 
I  fear,  mean  soon  to  follow  the  bad  example  of  their  sister. 
The  other  lady^"*  said  the  old  man,  with  a  reverential  air,  "  is 
a  particular  friend  of  my  eldest  darter's." 

My  brother  laughed  slyly,  and  the  old  man's  cheek  took  a 
deeper  glow  as  he  stooped  forward  to  mix  the  punch. 

"You  said  that  these  two  young  ladies.  Woodruff,  were 
by  your  last  wife.     Pray  how  many  wives  have  you  had  ]" 


220 


ROUGlflNG  IT  IN  THE  hUSIL 


1,1 


n  1 


li 


"Only  tliree.  It  is  impossible,  they  say  in  my  country, 
to  huve  too  much  of  a  good  thing." 

*'  So  1  suppose  you  think,"  said  my  brother,  glancing  first 
at  the  old  man  and  then  towards  Miss  Smith,  "Three  wives  I 
You  have  been  a  fortunate  man,  Woodrutf,  to  survive  them 
all." 

"  Ah,  have  I  not,  Mr.  S 1  but  to  tell  you  the  truth,  1 

have  been  both  lucky  and  unlucky  in  the  wife  way,"  and  then 
he  told  us  the  history  of  his  several  ventures  in  matrimony, 
with  whicli  I  shall  not  trouble  my  readers. 

When  he  had  concluded,  the  weather  was  somewhat 
milder,  the  sleigh  was  ordered  U>  the  door,  and  we  proceeded 
on  our  journey,  resting  for  the  night  at  a  small  village  about 

twenty  miles  from  B ,  rejoicing  that  the  long  distance 

which  separated  us  from  the  husband  and  father  was  dimin* 
ished  to  a  few  miles,  a'ld  that,  with  the  blessing  of  Providence, 
we  should  meet  on  the  morrow. 

About  noon  we  reached  the  distant  town,  and  were  met 
at  the  inn  by  him  whom  one  and  all  so  ardently  longed  to 
see.  He  conducted  us  to  a  pretty,  neat  cottage,  which  he  had 
prepared  for  our  reception,  and  where  we  found  old  Jenny 
already  arrived.  With  great  pride  the  old  woman  conducted 
me  over  the  premises,  and  showed  me  the  furniture  "  the 
masther"  had  bought ;  especially  recommending  to  my  notice 
a  china  tea-service,  which  she  considered  the  most  wonderful 
acquisition  of  the  whole. 

"  Och !  who  would  have  thought,  a  year  ago,  misthress 
dear,  that  we  should  be  living  in  a  mansion  like  this,  and 
ating  oil'  raal  chaney  ?  It  is  but  yestherday  that  we  were 
hoeing  praties  in  the  field." 

"  Yes,  Jenny,  God  has  been  very  good  to  us,  and  1  hope 
that  we  shall  never  learn  to  regard  with  inditference  the  many 
benefits  which  we  have  received  at  Ills  hands." 


f 


TV/A"  AlA(J/0  SP/ai. 


221 


country, 

cing  first 
io  wives ! 
ive  thoin 

truth,  I 
and  then 
trimony, 

omewhat 
I'oceedud 
go  about 
distance 
IS  diniin- 
)vidence, 

^ere  met 
3nged  to 
^1  he  had 
1  Jenny 
nducted 
re  "the 
y  notice 
mderful 

isthress 
lis,  and 
e  were 


t 


Reader!  it  is  not  my  inttMilioh  to  trouLIo  you  with  tiic 
gequel  of  our  his;tory.  1  have  <fiven  you  a  faithtiil  pioturo  of 
a  life  in  the  backwoods  of  Canada,  and  1  leave  vou  to  draw 
from  it  your  own  conchisions.  To  th^jxx)!;;,  uidiistrious 
workiiijgnian  it  piv?yits„l^ttRX-ft*-lVJ'yiil\S^s>  to  the  poor  ji^vn- 
tlenian,  710/^  /  The  former  worlds  liard,  puts  up  with  coarse, 
scanty  fare,  and  submits,  witli  a  good  j^race,  to  hards-hips  that 
would  kill  a  domesticated  animal  at  home.  Thus  he  beconu^ 
independent,  inasmuch  as  the  land  that  he  has  cleared  finds 
him  in  the  common  necessaries  of  life  ;  but  it  seldom,  if  ever, 
in  remote  situations,  accomplishes  more  than  this.  The  gen- 
tleman can  neither  work  so  hard,  live  so  coarsely,  nor  endiu-e 
so  many  privations  as  his  poorer  but  more  fortunate  neijj;h- 
bour.  Unaccustomed  to  manual  labour,  his  services  in  the 
field  are  not  of  a  natin-e  to  secure  fi)r  him  a  profitable  return. 
The  task  is  new  to  him,  he  knows  not  how  to  perform  it  well ; 
and,  conscious  of  his  deficiency,  he  expends  liis  little  means 
•n  hiring  labour,  which  his  bush-farm  can  never  repay.  Dit- 
fi^ulties  increase,  debts  grow  upon  him,  he  struggles  in  vain 
to  extricate  hiinself,  and  Anally  sees  his  family  sink  into  hope- 
less  ruin."^ ' 


"these  sketches  should  prove  the  means  of  deterring  one 
family  from  sinking  their  property,  and  shipwrecking  all  their 
hopes,  by  going  to  reside  in  the  backwoods  of  Canada,  1  shall 
consider  myself  amply  repaid  for  revealing  the  secrets  of  the 
prison-house,  and  feel  that  1  have  not  toiled  and  suffered  'n 
the  wilderness  in  vain. 


1 


u 


I  hope 
many 


222 


Kouainxa  IT  AV  Tim  nt/s/r 


■:*■'■  f 


THE  MAPLE-TREE. 

A  OANAOIAN  SCNO. 

Hail  to  the  prido  oftl  st — hull 

To  tho  ninplo,  tall  niid  ^reen ; 
It  yiolds  a  tronHuri^  which  ne'er  Hhtill  tUi 
While  lonvcs  on  its  boughn  iiro  neen. 

When  tho  moon  Hhiiiea  bright, 

On  tho  wintry  night, 
And  silvers  tho  frozen  snow; 

And  echo  dwells 

On  tho  jingling  bolls 
As  the  sleighs  dart  to  nnd  fro ; 

Then  it  b; "  ;htcn»  tho  mirth 

Of  the  social  hearth 
With  its  rod  and  cheery  glow. 

Afar,  'mid  tho  bosky  forost  shades. 

It  lifts  its  tall  head  on  '<igh ; 
When  the  crimaon-tintod  evening  fadm 
From  the  glowing  saffron  sky ; 

When  the  sun's  hiat  beams 

Light  up  woods  and  streams, 
And  brighten  the  gloom  below ; 

And  the  deer  springs  by 

With  his  flashing  oyo, 
And  the  shy,  swift-footed  doe; 

And  tho  sad  winds  chide 

In  the  branches  wide. 
With  a  tender  plaint  of  woo. 


The  Indian  loans  on  its  rugged  trunk. 
With  the  bow  in  his  red  right-hand, 

And  mourns  that  his  race,  liko  a  stream,  has  sank 
From  tho  glorious  forest  land. 


THE  MAPLE-THEE. 

Bat,  blithe  and  free, 

Tb«  maplo-lreo, 
Btill  toBBOB  to  Bun  and  air 

Its  thousand  ahtih, 

While  In  countlesB  swarms 
The  wl'  1  bee  rovela  there  ; 

But  soon  not  a  trace 

Of  the  red  man's  race 
Shall  bo  found  In  the  landscape  fair. 


223 


"S. 


When  the  snowa  of  winter  are  melting  faat, 

And  the  sap  begins  to  rise, 
And  the  biting  breath  of  the  frozen  blart 
Yields  to  the  spring's  soft  sighs, 

Then  away  to  the  wood. 

For  the  maple,  good, 
Shall  unlock  Its  honied  store ; 

And  boys  and  girls, 

With  their  sunny  curls. 
Bring  their  vcsbcIb  brimming  o'er 

With  the  luscious  flood 

Of  the  brave  tree's  blood. 
Into  caldrons  deep  to  pour. 


The  blaze  from  the  sugar-bush  gleams  re* ; 

Far  down  In  the  forest  diirk, 
L  ruddy  glow  on  the  trees  Is  shed. 
That  lights  up  their  rugged  bark ; 

And  with  merry  shout. 

The  busy  rout 
Watch  the  sap  as  It  bubbles  high ; 

And  they  talk  of  the  cheer 

Of  the  coming  year. 
And  the  jest  and  the  song  pass  by ; 

And  brave  tales  of  old 

Bound  the  fire  are  told. 
That  kindle  youth's  beaming  eye. 


Hurral  for  the  sturdy  maple-tree ! 

Long  may  Its  green  branch  wave ; 
In  native  strength  sublime  and  fre«, 

Meet  emblem  for  the  brave. 


rl*  ■!.. 


W-S 


224 


ROUQIIINQ  n  IN  THE  BUSH. 

May  the  nation's  poace 

With  its  growth  increase, 
And  its  worth  be  widely  spread  j 

For  it  liftd  not  in  vain 

To  the  sun  and  rain 
Ita  tall,  uiujostic  head. 

May  it  grace  our  soil, 

And  reward  our  toil, 
'nil  tao  nation's  heait  is  dead! 


Reader '  my  :asK  is  ended. 


I;  a' 


d  t 


VU%    VKU. 


o 


n  \ 


marka  the  women  of  our  households  when  they  undertake  to  make  their 
homes  bright  and  cheery.  Nothing  deters  them.  Their  weary  work  may 
be  ae  long  as  the  word  which  begins  this  paragraph,  but  they  prove  their 
regard  for  decent  homes  by  their  indefatigahility.  What  a  pity  that  any 
of  them  should  add  to  their  toil  by  neglecting  to  use  Sapolio.  It  reduces 
the  labor  of  cleaning  and  scouring  at  least  one-half.  10c.  a  cake.  Sold  by 
all  giocers. 


0 


BUPPQSlfQRIES^ 


CGNSTIPATION 


•      © 

9 

0. 


O 


_)r.  a.  W.  Thompson,  Northampton,  Mass.,  says:  "I  have  tested  the 
Gluten  Suppositories,  and  consider  them  valuable,  as  indeed,  I  expected 
fr:  m  the  excellence  of  their  theory." 

Dr.  VVm.  Tod  Helmuth  declares  the  Gluten  Suppositories  to  be  "  the 
best  remedy  for  constipation  which  I  have  ever  prescribed." 

''As  Sancho  Panza  said  of  sleep,  so  say  I  of  your  Gluten  Suppositories  : 
God  bless  the  mau  who  invented  them!" — E.  L.  Ripley,  Burlington,  Vt. 

"  I  prescribe  the  <51uten  Suppositories  almost  daily  in  my  practice  and 
am  often  astonished  at  the  permanent  results  obtained." — J.  Montfort 
SciiLEY,  M.D.,  Professor  Physical  Diagnosis  Woman's  Medical  College, 
New  York  City. 

i    HEALTH  FOOD   CO.,   76  4th  Avenue,  N.  Y. 


THE  BEST 

WASHING  COMPOUND 

EVISR  INVENTED. 

No  Lady,  Iflarricd  or 
9ing;lc,  Rich  or  Poor, 
II  o  u  »«  c  k  c  c  p  i  n  g^  or 
Boarding:,  >rill  be 
Tvitlioiit  it  stfitcr  tent- 
in^  itH  utility. 

Sold  1»y  all  lirst-class 
Oroccrs,biit  bevk-arcof 
Iff  ortliless  imitations. 


■yH 


->ii 


r.-i 


.=  .? 


1 


m 


■■"I 


"? 


DR.   SCOTT'S 

ELECTRIC  Corsets  and  Belts, 

Corsets,  $1.00,  $1.50,  $2.00,  $3.00.   Belts,  $3.00.   Nursing  Corset, 
Price,  $1.50.    Abdominal  Corset,  Price,  $3.00. 

Seventeen  thonfinnd  families  in  the  City  of  New  York  alone  are  now  wearing 

them  daily.    Every  Man  and  Women,  well  or  ill,  should  daily 

wear  either  the  Corset  or  Belt. 

OUR  CORSETS  ARE  DOUBLE  STITC  .ED  AND  WILL  NOT  RIP. 

If  you  have  a>ty  pain,  ache,  or  ill-feeling  Irom  a-  ,se,  if  j'ou  seem  "  pretty  well,"  yet  lack 

energy  and  do  not  "feel  up  to  the  mark,"  ilyou  siiffc.  disease,  webeff  youtoat  once  try  these 

rcniarkahle  curatives.  They  cannot  and  do  not  injure  Ke  medicine.  Alwciys  doing  good,  never 
harm.  There  is  no  shock  or  sensation  felt  in  wearing  th  m,  Hvcry  mail  brin£S  us  iesti»ic»iie.ls 
'i/.v  the  follow  ins  : 

We  guarantee  safe  delivery  into 
your  hands.  Remit  in  Post-Oflice 
Money-order,  Draft,  Check,  or  ir.  Cur- 
rency by  Registered  Letter  at  our 
risk.  In  ordering  kindly  mention 
l.oveirs  Library,  and  state  exact 
size  of  corset  usually  worn.  Make 
j^     all  remittances  payable  to  (iLO. 

^9^    a.  scott,  s4j  broadway, 

^^    New  York. 

^#V^  N.    B.— Each    article  is 

V  i^      stamped  with  the  English 

^J^      coat-oF-arms     and     the 

^^r.^      name  of  the  Propric- 

•^9^       tors,     THE     PAIX 

^\     MALL   ELECT- 

</     R  I  C       ASSOCIA- 

TION. 


TUP.  Celebrated   Dr.    W.  a. 
Hammond,   of  New    York,   formerly 
Siirjieon-General  of  the   U   S.  Army, 
Jafolv  lectured  upon  this  subject,  ami 
advised   all   medical   men   to   make 
trial  of  these  agencies,  describing  at 
th-'  same  time  most  remurkable 
«ure5  he  had  made,  even  in  cases 
which  would  seem  hopeless. 

The  Corsets  do  not  differ 
in  appearance  from  those 
usually  worn.    They  are 
elegant  in  shape  and 
finish,  made  after  the 
best  French   pattern, 
and  warranted  satisfac- 
tory  in   ever'   respect. 
Our  Belts  for  both  gents 
and  ladies  are  the  pren- 
uine  Dr.  Scott's  and  are 
reliable. 

The  prices   nre  as 
follows:  $1,  $1.50,  $i 
and  %Z  far  the  Cor- 
sets, and  $3  each 
fortheUelf  .     The 
accompanying  cut 
represents  our  No. 
'1.  or  ijl.50  Corset. 
We   have    also    a 
beautiful  French  shap- 
ed Sateen  Corset  at  $:*, 
alsoafine  Sateen  Abdom 
inal  Corset  at  $.'!,  and  a  short 
Sateen  Corset  at  $2.   The  $1 
and  $1.60 goods  are  madeof 
fine  Jean,  elegant  in  shape, 
strong  and  durable.     Nur 
Sing  Corset.    *1.50;  Miss- 
es, 76c.    A     ore  double 
stitched.         ents'    and 
Ladies'  Bt  .'..<,  $.",  each  ; 
Ladies'     Abdominal 
Supporter,  an  invalu- 
able article,  $12.  They 
are  sent  out  in  a  hand- 
some \>ox,     "companied  by  a 
silver-i)lated  compass  by  which 
the  Electro- Mignetic  iiifluc  ;e 
can  bo  tested.     If  you  cannot 
find  them   in  your  dry  goods 
store,  remit  to  us  direct.     We 
will   send  either  kind  to   any 
address,  post-paid,   on  receipt 
of  jiricc,  with  Wl  cents  added 
for  packing  and  postage. 


Chambershurg,  Pa, 
I  found  I")r.  Scott's  Electric  Cor- 
sets ixjsscssed  miraculous  power 
iiistinuil.itingaiul  invigorating  my 
enfeebled  budy,  and  the  Ilair 
linish  had  .a  magic  elTert  on  my 
scalp.  Mrs.  T.  v..  Snydur, 
Fancy  Goods  Dealer. 


Hollis  Centre,  Me. 
I  suffered  severely  from  back 
trouble  for  years  and  f  Jund  no 
relief  till  I  wore  Dr.  Scott's  Elec- 
tric Corsets.  They  cured  me, 
and  I  woidd  not  be  without 
them.    Mrs.  H  .  D.  BENSCN. 

Memphis,  Tennessee. 

Dr.    Scott's   Electric    Corsets 

have  given  me  much  relief.    I 

suffered  four  years  with  breast 

trouble,    without    finding  any 

benefit  fiom  other  remedies. 

They  are  invaluable. 

Mrs.  Jas.  Campbell. 

De  Witt,  N.  Y. 
I  have  an  invalid  sis- 
ter who  had  not  been 
dressed    for   a    year. 
She    has    worn   Dr. 
Scott's     Eloctric 
Corsets  for    two 
weeks,  and  is  now 
able  to  be  dressed 
and  sit  up  most  o! 
the  time. 

MELVA  J.  DOB. 


Newark.  N.  Y. 
Dr.  Scott's  Electric  Corsets 
have  entirely  cnrv.>l  me  of  mus- 
cular rheumatism,  and  also  ot 
severe  <  iso  of  headache. 
MRS.  L.  C.  Spencer. 


Dr.  Scott's  Electric  Hair  Bnishes,  St  .00,  $1.50,  $2.00,  $2.50, 
Brushes,  $:i.00;  Dr.  Scott's  Klectric  Tooth  Brushes,  50  cent 


$3.00;  Flesh 

.,,„„  ,i.ii1k:  Insoles, 

60  cents:    CHKST   PUOCTliCTOU,    $;{.00;    ELECTIUC    IIAltt 
CURLER,  50  cents;    lilJNO   A>D   NERVE  INVIOOBl- 


TORS,  85.00  and  $10.00. 


AQRPAT  CIIPPCCC  ^^^ ^  ^"«o«'  1^5^®  Cp.:.vas8ini?  Affent  WANTED  in 
UnCH  I    OjJIjIljCOu      your  town  for  these  splendidly  advertised  and 


l»pst  sellinp:  ^oods  in  the  market, 
lion  guaranteed.    Apply  at  once. 


MBERAL  PAY.  QUICK  SALES. 
(jIEO.  a.  SCOTT,  812  Broad wa J, 


SatisfdC- 
N.  Y. 


ing  Corset, 


s  now  wearlnar 
(1  daily  * 

NOT  RIP. 

:ty  well,"  yet  Inck 
at  once  try  these 
oiiig  good,  never 
!  US  testim(»i''als 

ife  delivery  into 
lit  ill  Post-Of?ice 
Check,  or  in  Cur- 
(i  Letter  at  our 
kindly  mention 
and  state  exact 
lily  worn.  Make 
iayablf  to  CEO. 
S4i   liKOADWAY, 

-Each  article  is 
with  the  English 
arms     and     the 

of  the   Proprie- 

TIIE     PALL 

iLL   ELECT. 

C       ASSOeiA- 

r. 


Us  Centre,  Me. 
'erely  from  back 
rs  and  f  jund  no 
:  Dr.  Scott's  Elec- 
rhey  cureil  me, 
not  be  without 
[ .  D.  BEN5CN. 

Its,  Tennessee. 
Electric  Corsets 
much  relief.  I 
:ars  with  breast 
)ut  finding-  any 
other  remedies, 
ivaliiable. 

;.  Campbell. 


De  Witt,  N.  Y. 
e  an  invalid  sis- 
•  had  not  been 
d  for  a  year, 
has  worn  Dr. 
cott's  Eloctric 
Corsets  for  two 
;eks,  and  is  now 
e  to  be  dressed 
1  sit  up  most  ot 
time. 
ELVAJ.  DOH. 


Vfcwark.  N.  Y. 
lilcctric  Corsets 
urvd  me  of  inus- 
isiii.  and  also  ot  | 
heailachc. 
C.  SpliNCHR. 

3.00?  Flesh 
Indoles, 
[AiU 


.Al 


'-:"  A 


H 


WANTED  In 

ircrtised  and 
\.  Satisfac- 
Jj,  N.  Y. 


